Heed The Call
by HopeLearningSerenity
Summary: When Lorelai, Queen of Ferelden and Warden-Commander, finds herself in the worst trouble of her life since the Blight, it's up to her old companions and her Wardens to come together to aid her...and keep her King from getting himself killed in the process
1. Prologue

**All Dragon Age belongs to BioWare, but Lorelai (and anyone random who magically appears) belongs to me.**

**Welcome, new readers! And to everyone whose read Find The Way, welcome back! I've missed writing, and I've missed your oh-so-wonderful reviews! I planned to start this second story much sooner, but alas moving,flooding, a wedding, a funeral... Well, you can see how I might have put it off. **

**Now we're back in business!**

**This story is going to be very different from Find The Way...fewer characters bawling their eyes out, for one :P. I hope you like it just as much (but for different reasons) as you liked Find The Way.**

**This is my take on what being a ranger in the game means, sorry if it doesn't jive with what you think a ranger is/should be.**

**I dedicate this story to the rogues: Zevran, Leliana, Nathaniel, Sigrun, and of course...Lorelai :)**

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"I can't believe you didn't tell me! All this time!"

Nathaniel's mouth twitched a bit at the corners, but he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the small smile from growing. He was glad he was walking in front of Sigrun. It made it that much easier to keep any expressions that accidentally showed on his face from being seen. He supposed he sympathized with her a bit. After all, he'd only found out slightly before she had.

He honestly couldn't believe he hadn't put it together sooner. On his mad trek back from the Free Marches, with wild thoughts of revenge pulsing through his heart, he'd caught snatches of news of the political shift, of the new ruler – _rulers – _and yet he'd never put it all together. Utterly daft, really.

Now, with the battles done, the talking darkspawn issue sorted, and a newly renovated Keep freshly destroyed, it was time to meet said rulers. Of course, the source of Sigrun's embarrassment being that they'd already been in the presence of one the whole time.

"We weren't trying to hide it from you! It just...never came up."

Nathaniel felt his mouth twitch again at the growl of frustration that boiled out of irate dwarf's mouth. _Wrong answer, mage_, he thought.

"'Never came up'?" Sigrun was shouting. "I pretty sure there was plenty of time for this conversation when we were doing all that _walking_, Anders!"

"I don't get the fuss! So sodding what, eh? Just because the Commander spends her free time in the sack with-"

"Oghren!" Sigrun shrieked. "Don't talk like that about...about..."

"Listen, girlie, I knew these two when they weren't nothing but Grey Wardens! I said what I wanted about 'em then, and I'll say what I want about 'em now!" Oghren let out a terrific belch. "If you ask me, the Commander could do a shade better than that over-tall, shield-carryin', goofy-"

"You're the worst!" she interrupted. "All that time trying to get under my armor, and you fail to mention _this_! I swear you're such a..."

Nathaniel couldn't help himself any longer. A smile broke across his face as Sigrun berated her fellow dwarf in such a foul-mouthed rage it made it hard to tell which one of them had the filthier vocabulary.

"Enjoying the show?" murmured a voice from in front of him.

He raised his eyes. The Commander was ahead of him, leading them down the road. She'd turned her head just enough to see him out of the corner of her right eye, and the amusement there was unmistakable.

"Perish the thought," he answered promptly, before narrowing his eyes and adding, "aren't you?"

"I'm more amused by the fact that a few months ago, you wouldn't dare crack a smile in front of us. Now..." She trailed off, and her smile was filled with a bit of victory.

Schooling his face into sterner lines, he inclined his head to her in strict deference. "Would you prefer I go back to my tight-lipped ways, Commander?"

"You mean, would I prefer you go back to wishing me dead?" She laughed. "No, Nathaniel. I prefer the relationship you and I have now to the one we had when we first met."

"And what relationship would that be?" Anders came bounding forward, inserting himself between them. "Nothing naughty, I hope. I'm sure the Commander's husband wouldn't appreciate that." He darted his eyes forwards and backwards, landing on Nathaniel and the Commander alternately.

She gave Anders a hefty shove, laughing again. "If I were you, mage, I'd be more concerned about myself than about Nathaniel."

"Why's that, oh fearless leader?" The blond mage bowed low before her, long hair falling in his eyes.

"Because I told my dear husband that _you_ reminded me of him. He didn't seem to take that well." She tapped her chin with a slender finger, feigning confusion. "I wonder why..."

"Oh, good. That's what I needed." He raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Did you tell him we killed a few templars, too?"

"Of course."

"You _told_ him?" Anders squawked, and Nathaniel winced at the sudden increase in volume. "But he's a-"

"Never took his vows," she interrupted. "He is no Chantry-enslaved, lyrium-addicted lapdog."

"I should think not," Nathaniel muttered to himself. Or so he thought. The Commander's eyes flicked back to him.

"Your...opinion of the Chantry, which I do so admire, aside," Anders was sputtering, "was that really necessary?"

"He understood, Anders," she explained patiently. "He trusts me...as you should. Don't you? Trust me?"

The mage's mouth opened and closed several times, cheeks filling with color. "Yes, Commander," he finally managed.

"Good," she said briskly, grinning. "Now, can you see what can be done about calming Sigrun, before she starts pulling out Oghren's beard?"

As Anders drifted back to the rear of the group, and his voice added to the raucous dwarven shouting match that still raged on, Nathaniel stepped forward to be even with the Commander as they walked.

"Nicely handled," he said.

"I try."

"Did you tell the truth? Was your husband really...understanding about that situation in Amaranthine?" he asked.

"Really, Nathaniel. Would I lie?" she teased, turning to look at him, her short russet hair just brushing the top of her ear. "Yes, he was. He found it regrettable, as I did, but necessary."

"'Necessary'," he echoed. "Even in his position?"

"Of course." Her lips stretched in a feral smile. "The Right of Conscription must be protected."

A thrill ran down Nathaniel's spine. Of course, he thought of the Commander as a Grey Warden first and foremost. Actually, in the beginning, he'd thought of her as a Cousland first, which used to be tantamount to a swear word in his vocabulary. At least this _particular_ Cousland.

But in light of his most recent discovery, the reason for all of Sigrun's fretting, he had momentarily forgotten about her tainted blood. Seemed silly, forgetting about something like that. After all, they were _all_ tainted. Saviors of humanity and whatnot.

Her fierce statement had forcibly reminded him of the Grey in her, in them all.

He looked at the ground. Walking beside her, he couldn't help but wonder about the intertwining paths of Fate. They walked in step together, a Cousland and a Howe, both Grey Wardens...all because of his father's treachery.

"Honestly, Sigrun, leave your pigtails alone! You'll pull out all your hair if you keep it up," Anders chided from behind them.

"Ugh, it won't stop sticking up in the back!" she wailed.

"You look perfectly lovely, just as you always do," the mage assured her.

"Really?"

Sigrun? Lovely? Nathaniel rolled that over in his mind. He supposed she was attractive. He'd never thought about it. Her exceeding perkiness was usually the first thing that came to mind when he thought of her, not her looks. Her tattoos were striking, to be sure. And her hair was a nice shade of black, with some deep red undertones. And her smile was always-

"Sigrun, you don't have to worry," the Commander said, turning around to walk backwards. "He's not a hurlock."

Nathaniel turned to look, just in time to see Sigrun gulp and blink a few times. "Of course, Your Ma-"

The Commander raised her hand, and made a _tsk_ noise. "You don't have to call me that, Sigrun. In fact, I'd prefer you didn't."

"But...that's what you are!" The dwarf's dark skin flushed across her cheeks and she twisted her fingers together in agitation.

"I'm many things," the Commander pointed out, grinning like a child. She spread her arms widely in mock self-importance. "I'm an archer."

"A Grey Warden," Anders supplied, wiggling his fingers mystically.

"A master ranger," Nathaniel added, and tried to keep the hint of jealousy from his voice. He couldn't so much as Call a mouse. But the Commander... He wouldn't be surprised if even the great leviathans of the oceans would come to her Call. Pushing his envy to the back of his mind, he gave Sigrun his best attempt at a calming smile. It seemed to work; she smiled back, tentatively at first, but then with a bit more of herself in it.

"A sister," the Commander continued.

"The hero of Ferelden!" Anders crowed, throwing his hands in the air with melodrama.

"My husband's idea, that one," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Arlessa of Amaranthine," was Nathaniel's next contribution.

The Commander's little game must have been working, since Sigrun laughed and joined the fray. "Slayer of the Archdemon!"

"That one, too," the Commander agreed, though a fleeting shadow crossed her face. No one else seemed to see it save for Nathaniel, however. "So, what's one more thing like-"

"Royalty?" Anders finished with a wicked grin.

The Commander sighed heavily, leaning her head back to rest on the butt of her heavy crossbow. "Not the word _I_ was looking for, but yes."

"Any time I can help, you just let me know," the mage chimed cheerfully.

"Truly, you're a gem." The Commander placed her palm on her forehead in resignation.

"I'm telling ya, Commander, no one would miss him if you let old Oghren take care of him." The dwarf ground his knuckles together. "Introduce him to mister axe, if ya know what I mean."

She sighed again. "No, Oghren. There will be no killing of our fellow Wardens."

"Aww, but-"

"Oghren..."

"Oh, blast it."

Anders stuck his tongue out at the red-haired dwarf.

Oghren's bloodshot eyes widened considerably, and his face purpled with rage. "Come over here, boy! I'll give ya somethin' to do with that, after I chop it clean off!"

The Commander sighed for a third time. "What did I just-"

"Oh!" Sigrun said, hands falling to her sides. She was staring down the path.

Nathaniel turned and felt sweat immediately break out across his skin. "Um, Commander, perhaps you should face forward..."

She gave him a strange look, but turned as he requested. He watched color flash across her cheeks as her eyes widened. "Oh, I told him not to do this..."

"That's a whole lot of people," Anders said, coming forward.

The road sloped down a slight hill to Denerim, and the masses inside the capital could already be seen. They were lining the streets, from what Nathaniel could see, and he would wager it was like that all the way to the palace.

"A hero's welcome, apparently," he commented, swallowing hard. These people would only know him as his father's son, judge him by his father's crimes. He could already feel their accusatory stares, their dark mutterings.

And, of course, the Commander's husband. How was _he_ going to feel about the son of the man who'd murdered his wife's family?

"I've got your back, Nathaniel."

He turned, and the Commander smiled at him from his left reassuringly. With his eyes off the path, he stumbled a step, and his bow came forward to knock him on the back of the head. Though having his family's ancestral bow was a joy he never thought he'd get to experience, right now it felt like as much of a brand as the peculiar s-shaped tattoo on Sigrun's face. Son of a murderer. Son of a traitor.

"Nathaniel?"

He blinked, trying to clear away the apprehension. He had the woman walking next to him to thank for his family's bow. The woman who had killed his father, which she had done because his father had killed her entire household, save for her brother.

Maker's blood, what tangled threads...

"And I've got yours," he answered finally, forcing a small smile. "You haven't held your position for very long. Can't imagine this is exactly comfortable for you, either."

"You should've been here after we defeated the Blight," she said, laughing nervously. Rolling her shoulders, she blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. "I'd rather face a horde of darkspawn," she mumbled.

"Quick, we'll turn back," Anders suggested. "Make a run for it."

"Can't. Without her, that boy would let the whole damn place fall apart in a few months!" Oghren laughed uproariously. A _glugging_ sound filled the air, followed by thunderous belch. "All right, let's get all the wavin' and the smilin' over with. I want some of that palace hospitality." He cackled again. "I bet the Commander does, too!"

Anders burst out laughing as Sigrun buried her face in her hands. Whether in laughter or despair, Nathaniel couldn't tell. The Commander just pursed her lips and shook her head, but he could tell she was trying not to laugh herself.

"Miss him?" he ventured, trying to distract them both from what awaited them inside the city gates. He'd never asked her about her personal life...and look where that had gotten him.

"Yes," she sighed, in a tone Nathaniel had never heard before. He looked at her quizzically. When she caught his expression, she blushed. "I haven't been away from him for this long...ever." She let out a brief shout of laughter, as if the reality of that statement just dawned on her. "We've been side by side since the day we met."

He envied her love story.

He looked toward the city. The watch had noticed their approach, the word was being passed along. The noise of the crowd started quietly at first, but it rose in volume like an approaching storm. Oh, Andraste...

As they reached the outer wall, the gates swung inward as if of their own accord. The barrage of sound that greeted them was deafening.

"By the stone...!" Sigrun had to shout to be heard by the rest of them.

"Just smile and wave," the Commander advised. "The palace isn't far."

Nathaniel pulled his spine straighter, and followed his Commander into what felt like his worst nightmare.

They hadn't made it ten feet when they were approached by a contingent of guards. Their armor reflected the sunlight blindingly. "May we escort you to the palace, Your Majesty?" the man in front asked after they'd all risen from their deep bow.

"Must you?" she blurted out desperately.

Oghren guffawed, smacking Anders in the arm. "She always was a no-nonsense kinda gal!"

The man frowned. "The King insisted, Your Majesty."

"Of course he did," she muttered darkly. At the look on the man's face, the Commander smoothed her expression with effort. "Forgive me, it's been a long day. Of course you can."

The guard nodded smartly, and they were moving again.

The walk through the city seemed to go on forever. Nathaniel planned to have a few words with the Commander when they got to the palace. Her definition of "not far" and his seemed to differ greatly.

At last, the massive stone building loomed into view. With the guards in the way, Nathaniel couldn't see anything, or anyone, in front of them. The crowd held back, leaving a half circle clear before the palace gates, and those he assumed were the staff of the household stood nearest to the walls.

Craning his head, he tried to look beyond the guards. He had to confess, despite his apprehension over how he was going to be received, he was terribly curious about the man who was a match for his Commander.

Deep, booming barks burst out over the noise of the crowd.

"Oh, I'd move out of the way if I were you, gentleman," she advised the guards. "_Now!_" she laughed as the barking grew louder.

They parted obediently, just in time, too. The mabari that came charging through would've scattered them like dried kindling.

"Jacob, easy!" the Commander ordered.

He barely managed to skid to a halt, almost stumbling over his own legs in an effort to stop himself. Apparently too excited to stay calm, he jumped up, placing great paws on her shoulders and washing her face with strokes from his giant tongue.

"Jacob, Jacob!" she squealed, trying to twist her head away. She wrestled his paws off her shoulders, dropping the dog unceremoniously to the ground. Once there, he looked up at her in blatant worship.

"Ah, I can't resist those eyes," she groaned, bending down to rub the dog's head and ears thoroughly. His back leg thumped rhythmically in ecstasy. "Did you take good care of Alistair?"

At the name, the mabari turned to look over his shoulder, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

The Commander looked at the same time Nathaniel did.

The man was not what he had expected, at all.

Tall, at least taller than Nathaniel, with dirty blond hair. His face looked young, boyish almost. The clothes, fine though they were, seemed out of place on him. He simply exuded the idea that he'd rather be wearing something else. Probably armor, this almost-templar, Grey Warden, secret son of Maric.

He certainly didn't look like a King.

What he _did_ look like was head-over-heels, drop-dead in love. The grin on his face stretched from ear to ear, and even from this distance, Nathaniel could see the man's eyes glowing with joy.

The Commander stood up from where she'd been bent over her mabari. She seemed momentarily frozen, but her grin matched the man's.

"Well, go on, girl! I'm thirsty!" Oghren roared, stepping forward to give her an unceremonious shove in the back.

She stumbled a few paces as the mabari barked his agreement. That was all the encouragement she needed. Taking off at a run, the mabari pelting after her, she closed the distance in a hurry.

She leaped into the man's arms, and he lifted her up, spinning her in a circle. The mabari bounced around them, letting out a very un-wardog-like yip every time his feet touched the ground.

The crowd clapped and cheered with approval.

"What are ya waiting for?" Oghren demanded, pushing his way to the front. "You can't just wait for them to notice ya, we'll be here all day! Come on."

Nathaniel never thought he'd see the day when he would willingly follow Oghren's lead, but follow the dwarf he did.

As they approached, Nathaniel watched as the man finally let the Commander's feet touch the ground again. He buried his face against her neck as his hand came up to stroke her short hair. That's when Nathaniel heard the man's voice for the first time.

"Oh, Lorelai, I've been going _crazy_ without you."


	2. Trip?

Alistair woke in the middle of the night, and automatically reached for the other side of the bed. When his hand fell on smooth sheets instead of a curving hip, he turned his head sharply. The space besides him was empty.

Sitting up, he glanced around the room. The rug near the fireplace was vacant, as well. The tightness in his chest eased. With the dog gone, too, everything was likely fine. Still...

Pulling a shirt over his head, Alistair got up and left the bedroom. The stone floor was cold, and he winced as he made his way down the hall. He belatedly wished he'd put something on his feet, but it would be counterproductive to go back now. He had a wife to locate.

Where would she have gone at this hour?

Closing his eyes, he let the Grey reach out, seeking the presence of the only other in the palace like it. He followed it blindly, keeping one hand on the wall to avoid looking too suspicious. If some guard on night watch saw him walking about with his eyes closed, they'd probably think the King was sleep-walking.

Alistair smiled ruefully. The last thing he needed was a rumor like that. They'd have the guards doubled in no time. After all this time, he still hadn't gotten used to being trailed and protected like a prized pigeon. He chafed against their insistent hovering.

A snort blew out his nose. Like he wasn't capable of protecting himself...or others, for that matter. Didn't they remember that not so long ago (some days, longer ago than he liked), he'd been traipsing across the countryside, fighting against horrible odds and uncountable foes? That not so long ago, he'd been defender, not leader?

He snorted again. He _still_ wasn't leader. Couldn't let the masses of Ferelden know that, though. Maker forbid they knew their King still considered himself defender. Still the shield to protect the true leader, still the sword to strike down those who came too near to her.

Ah, he missed those days. Sometimes.

The Grey in him tingled sharply, and his feet shuffled to a stop. Opening his eyes, he saw a large wooden door before him. He inhaled deeply, and smiled. His nose told him where he was. Pushing the door ever so gently, he peeked inside the kitchen.

She was bent over a large preparation table, the sleeves of her nightgown rolled up in an attempt to spare the garment from getting soiled. It wasn't working very well. The entire workspace looked like a disaster area. Bowls half-full of ingredients were spread in a half moon in front of her. Flour had splashed across the front of her night dress, crawled up to her elbows, painted one of her cheeks, and liberally dusted her hair.

If there was any indication of the passage of time, it was the length of her hair. Just falling past her eyes when he'd met her, it now flowed like a chocolate river, tickling her spine in the middle of her back. She still kept the little banded sections in it, though. Maker only knew how she kept it from just forming a massive, tangled mess.

Andraste's sword, she still stole his breath like a thief in the treasury.

The dough under her hands shifted and bulged from the onslaught she heaped on it. Behind her, in front of one of the many fireplaces the kitchen boasted, Jacob snuffled in his sleep, rubbing a paw absently against closed eyes.

"What did that dough ever do to you?" he teased quietly, opening the door all the way and stepping inside.

She spun quickly, hand flying to her chest. "Alistair!" she gasped, dropping her hand when she saw him. It left a perfect flour hand print between her breasts. "You scared me half to death!"

Jacob opened one eye, gave a grunt of greeting, then rolled over to go back to sleep.

"Some watchdog _you_ are," she muttered at him.

Alistair came around the table. "Why are you," he poked the dough, "making bread at this hour?"

"The Tevinter ambassador leaves in the morning. He likes my mother's bread, and I wanted him to be able to take a loaf with him," she explained.

"That's nice of you, Lorelai, but did _you_ have to make it?" He paused, reaching up to wipe some flour off her face. "You could've asked one of the kitchen girls to make it, I'm sure they wouldn't have have minded."

Her mouth dropped open, and she placed her hands on her hips playfully. "Are you suggesting I reveal the top-secret recipe to my mother's bread?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're not a spy for the Tevinter ambassador, are you? Has he paid off one of the kitchen girls, and then bribed _you_ to have me tell her so-"

Alistair raised his hands in surrender, laughing. "I yield, I yield! I'm no match for your interrogation! I come with no evil, bread-recipe-stealing intentions."

She nodded dubiously, before giving him a half-smile. "I suppose you are innocent..._for now_." She went back to kneading the dough, folding it in on itself again and again and again.

"Seriously, though, love." He placed a casual hand on her hip. The nightgown did nothing to hide the feel of her skin from him, and he felt his heart step up the pace a bit. "Isn't it a bit...late to remember bread? I'm sure the ambassador would've forgiven you."

"Don't you mean early?" she quibbled, not looking up from the table. "I'm sure it's morning by now."

"Yes," he agreed, eyes sharper now. He knew he wasn't the brightest man in the world, but he also knew that he couldn't have lived with Lorelai for this long and not picked up a few tricks.

She was upset about something.

"Were you having trouble sleeping?" he tried, bending his head a little in an attempt to catch her gaze.

She made a noncommittal gesture with her head and shoulders. "Not particularly."

That was a yes. "There's been a lot going on lately. We've been a bit...ragged." It always seemed like everything happened all at once. Alistair constantly felt like he was making it up as he went along, hiding that fact from everyone around him. Only Lorelai seemed to know what she was doing, even though she insisted to him that she felt just as much a fish out of water as he did.

"Let's run off," he said, grabbing her hands. "We'll let Mistress DeWitt run the place; she practically does already. Arl Eamon can come and-"

"Don't be mad," she abruptly said, looking up at him with guilt in her eyes.

"What?" he asked, eyebrows knotting together in confusion. "What have you done, hmm?"

"I... I may need to go on a trip." Lorelai bit her lip.

The air rushed out of his lungs all at once. Trip? She'd just gotten back from Vigil's Keep. Well, maybe not _just_. It sure felt like _just_ to him. Balancing her time between Vigil's Keep and Denerim was a constant battle...one that Alistair always felt like he was losing. That was just because he wanted her near all the time, regardless of how impossible that was at the moment.

"You just got here," he managed to say, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

"I know!" She squirmed a bit at his expression. "The thing is...now that Vigil's Keep is finally rebuilt, there's nothing to occupy certain Wardens anymore."

"Go on."

Pulling her hands out of his grasp, she started pacing, her night dress making a soft _swish_ sound with every step. "Sigrun's got this look in her eye all the time, like she's looking for an exit. It's been like that ever since all the initial insanity was over. Rebuilding the Keep seemed to distract her, but now it's back. It's like she wants to go, but something is keeping her here...and I don't know how much longer than something will work.

"And Nathaniel is acting strange, as well. Like he's looking for an out, too. He'd never say it but-" She broke off, wringing her hands.

"It's been five years, Lorelai," Alistair said patiently. "You'd think if they were going to leave, they would've done it already."

Turning to face him, she whispered with a hint of desperation, "What if I was wrong? What if I condemned them to the life of Grey Wardens...and it was the wrong choice?"

"Oh, honey." The guilt, the confusion in her eyes broke his heart. Holding out his arms, he beckoned her by wiggling his fingers.

With a contented sigh, she came to him and nestled against his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso tightly.

Ah, he hoped he never got used to that. The same shiver ran through him now that had jolted his skin the first time she'd embraced him.

"You didn't make the wrong choice, I'm sure," he murmured, pressing his lips against the top of her head.

"How do you know?"

"Well, first of all, because you're _always_ right." That earned him a giggle. Good. "Secondly," he continued, tilting her chin up so he could see her brilliant eyes, "because they knew what they were getting into. You told them, they accepted it. They passed their Joinings-"

"Mhairi didn't," she pointed out, bitterness creeping into her voice.

"Mhairi wanted to be a Grey Warden _period_. You didn't Conscript her, you didn't ask her. She wanted it." Alistair gave a shrug that tried to make light of the event. In truth, it bothered him just as much as it bothered her. For the obvious reasons, of course.

But it bothered him on a completely different level, too.

The image of Daveth crumpling to the ground as he choked on the tainted blood came to mind unbidden, unwanted.

It so easily could've been her. Lorelai collapsing, Lorelai gagging and gasping...Lorelai dying.

Where would he be then? Would he have even made it out of Ostagar without her? She'd been the one to pull everyone together to take back the tower, to fight their way to the top floor. What would he have done if it had just been him?

"Love?"

Her questioning tone brought him away from his morbid mental wanderings. "Mhairi is not your fault. None of them are your _fault_. They accepted, they knew."

"I guess," she replied, lips twisting in reluctant agreement.

"So," he said, bending his head to kiss the tip of her nose, "now that we've established that you were _not_ wrong in making them Grey Wardens, where is this 'trip' coming from?"

"Well, I thought I could take them on a little 'tour' of the Fifth Blight. Show them where we started, what we had to do. Show them that whatever they're looking for, they don't have to leave the Wardens to find it. It's perfect timing, with Anders having just returned from his impromptu leaving..." Her forehead wrinkled in concern, waiting for his response. "What do you think?"

Alistair internally winced. Her idea was...pretty brilliant. Like all of her ideas. Except for the part where she had to leave him. That part wasn't brilliant, at all.

He said as much to her.

"Oh, love," she said with a sigh and a smile. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and her smile turned mischievous. "You could come with us," she suggested in a sing-song voice. "Like you said, we'll run off. Eamon can take over for a little while."

"As tempting as that is, they're _your_ Wardens. If you bring me along, they'll get all stiff and proper. They'll probably have a difficult time absorbing any life lessons you try to impart."

Her glower was comical. "Bah, what better way to get used to you than to be forced to troop across Ferelden with you?"

"Since when am I the responsible one?" he laughed. "I'm supposed to be the bad influence. It's your job to keep me in line,"

"You _always_ get to be the bad influence!" she complained, stamping her foot. "I want a turn."

He knew what she was doing: distracting him from the fact that she was _going _to leave. They both knew she'd never been asking for his permission in the first place. The idea was laughable. Alistair sighed inside his head. Well, he supposed he could survive without her for a little while...again.

No sense whining about it. Time to play along. "OK," he stepped back a bit, crossing his arms, "your turn."

"You sure about that?"

"Oh, I'm sure. And I'm an expert, madam, so I doubt you'll manage to impress me," he said loftily.

Lorelai gave him a slow, wicked grin. She took the few paces to stand in front of him again, and trailed her fingertips up his arms to his shoulders. "So, you're positive you won't come with us?"

_Maker blast her womanly wiles!_ he thought, for lines of heat already burned where her touch had been. "Absolutely positive," he managed with false bravado. "I have to stay here and do very...Kingly things."

"But," she hesitated childishly, biting her lip for good measure, "if you don't come with us, who will be my champion?" Taking delicate steps, she made her way behind him, always keeping one or two fingers dragging across his flimsy shirt. "Who will be my warrior?" Her fingers trailed up his spine swiftly with the last word, and he could barely conceal the jolt that made his fingers twitch.

"Oghren's a good warrior," he pointed out, though his voice had a whole lot less confidence in it now. Letting her be the bad influence was _horrible_ idea. She was entirely too good at it. He barely noticing he'd uncrossed his arms, dropping them to his sides like she was dropping his mental defenses.

She made a dismissive noise at his suggestion as she came around to face him again. Sliding her hands up his chest, Lorelai stood on her toes, bringing her lips to his earlobe to whisper, "Who will be my...shield?"

"Maker's breath, woman!" He yanked his head back to stare at the ceiling as the muscles in his gut jerked. If he looked at her now, so help him, he'd take her right on the kitchen preparation table; bread dough and scattered ingredients be damned. "Please explain to me how it is you make everyday words sound so...so..."

"Dirty?" she supplied, her voice still a slick whisper in his ear.

Oh, _that_ helped his self control. "Lorelai," he growled, still watching the ceiling.

"Yes?" she purred.

That was even _more_ unhelpful.

"You're going to need to back up, love," he said, gritting his teeth. Back to the bedroom, that's all he needed to do. Get her back the bedroom before his pulse pounded right out of his throat. To think he'd waited as long as he did to ask her to his tent the first time. Chock it up to virgin nerves. Well, virgin was over five years long gone, replaced with barely controlled lust that she could awaken with a single touch...or, apparently, seductively-spoken weapons. "If you don't, I'll-"

She cut him off by pressing the full length of herself against him roughly.

Wrenching his head down, Alistair looked at his wife. The fabric of her nightdress hid nothing from him, nor anything from her. She ground her hips against his slowly as her eyes issued a demand he'd be a fool to ignore.

"Right," he said shortly. Sliding his hands around her waist quickly, he very nearly threw her onto table. Bowls and utensils clattered loudly at her sudden presence, and they protested even louder as he took her lips, pushing her backwards in his enthusiasm.

She moaned into his mouth, and it almost undid him.

As if they didn't belong to him, Alistair's hands started gathering up fistfuls of her nightgown, hoisting it in ragged yanks-

From the doorway, someone cleared their throat sternly.

They both whipped their heads at the sound, frozen in their over-the-table, half-of-Lorelai's-gown-up indiscretion.

"Mistress DeWitt-!" Alistair jumped away from his wife like she'd turned into an insect.

"Adelle!" Lorelai forced her nightdress down frantically as she flushed scarlet.

Nothing like getting caught by the head of the household to make one feel like a teenager discovered in the armory with a maid. Not that that had ever happened to him before...

Jacob raised his head and gave a friendly woof at the austere woman in the doorway.

"Is there something wrong with your bedroom, Your Majesties?" The woman arched a thin eyebrow as her penetrating gaze ran over them.

"No, Adelle, of course not." Lorelai hopped off the table quickly, hands smoothing down her nightgown compulsively. "And I'm so sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up-"

"That's not necessary, Your Majesty," she interrupted with a small smile. "I can take care of it."

"But the bread-"

"While I don't know the ingredients to your mother's bread, I certainly know how long it takes to bake." She made a shooing motion. "I'll be sure it's ready for the Tevinter ambassador."

"Um, thank you." She pulled at her hair uncomfortably.

"You're welcome, Your Majesty. Now, get yourselves to bed."

"Yes, Mistress DeWitt," Alistair said obediently, bowing his head as he swung an arm around Lorelai's waist to herd her out before she kept talking.

"Goodnight, Adelle," Lorelai said, inclining her head as they headed for the door. She snapped her fingers, and Jacob leaped to his feet to follow them, ears folded and head lowered.

Alistair had to bite the inside of his cheek to control the laughter. Even the mabari showed deference to the mighty Mistress DeWitt.

Once out in the corridor, with the kitchen door closed firmly behind them, he leaned against the wall and took a huge breath. "Oh, Maker."

Lorelai buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with repressed giggles. "Haven't...been caught like that...for a while," she managed in between laughter.

Grinning, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her into his chest. "Almost as bad as being walked in on by Wynne."

"That would've been _awful_!" She jabbed a fist into his side. "Don't even joke about that!"

"Yes, I'll send an extra prayer to Andraste tonight for delivering us from _that_ embarrassment."

"So..." she grabbed a couple handfuls of his shirt tightly and looked up at him through her eyelashes, "have you _completely_ lost your, ah, motivation?"

He stole a kiss in the semi-darkness as lightning danced across his nerves. "Never, my lady."

"Good," she murmured. Taking his hand, she took off down the corridor at a run, dragging him with her.

As they reached their chambers, she threw the door open and shoved him inside. Banishing Jacob to an adjoining room (he huffed loudly at the dismissal), she spun to face him in a flurry of silk and flowing hair. Starlight slid over her skin like water, and he felt more than saw her smile.

His heart lurched in his chest. His wife. His Queen.

It took him only a few steps to make the space between them vanish. Fingers buried in her glorious hair, he craned her head back gently.

"You'll be careful?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, darling."

"Are you going to insist on going to Amaranthine alone?"

"I am."

An irritated snort pushed past his lips. "You know I hate when you travel alone."

"For Andraste's sake, love-!"

He gave her a mild shake. "You're an _archer_."

"Nathaniel and I have been practicing duel-wielding weapons," she countered. "I'm good, Alistair. Promise."

Narrowing his eyes, he pressed, "Take Jacob."

She shook her head as much as his grip would allow. "No, Jacob always keeps you company when I go away."

"I'll live," he assured her.

"Fine. Now, if you're quite finished being demanding..."

"I love you."

Lorelai blinked at him, and he could tell he'd surprised her a bit with the sudden declaration amidst husbandly conditions and restrictions. "I love you, too."

"_Now _I'm done."

"Good. Then get on your knees and _show_ me how much you love me."

The laughter that rolled out of his throat was deep and indulgent. "Of course, my lady."

As he sank to his knees, he slid his hands down her silk-covered legs. Dawn would come sooner than he wanted. Better make what was left of this night one for the record books.


	3. The Visitor

"And then she tells us the Maker gave her a vision, that she is _meant _to join us," Lorelai said, winking exaggeratedly across the table.

Sigrun's mouth dropped open. "What did _you_ say?" she demanded.

Lorelai gave a simple shrug, even as her heart gave a leap of joy at the excited glint in Sigrun's eyes. In the past weeks, the dwarf had wept silent tears at Ostagar, gasped at the Kocari Wilds, and now this. Sigrun not been this engaged in _anything_ for so long. It seemed Lorelai's crazy plan might, in fact, work. "I let her join us."

"_What?_" Sigrun dropped her palms to the table in surprise. "But she was crazy! I mean, you don't believe the Maker talked to her...do you, Commander?"

"If you knew what that bard looked like, you'd have taken her, too!" Oghren grunted, then cackled into his mug of ale. "Finest legs I've ever clapped eyes on, and an-"

"Perhaps you could manage to watch your tongue, seeing as we're in public," Nathaniel admonished sternly, though there was no real reproach in his voice. Oghren's...charm had grown on them all, just as it had grown on Lorelai in the depths of Orzammar.

"Anyway," Anders said, flourishing his hand in Lorelai's direction, "you were saying..."

Lorelai spread her hands wide. How to explain the earnest conviction in Leliana's voice to someone who'd never heard her speak? To illustrate the shining determination in her eyes...and the quick efficiency of her blades? "It didn't matter what I believed," she said to the dwarf. "It mattered what _she_ believed. And we certainly weren't swimming in allies by that point!"

"Just you, Morrigan, Jacob," Sigrun reached down to pat the mabari on the head, whose ears had pricked at his name, "and His Majesty."

"Please, Sigrun!" begged Lorelai, folding her hands in supplication. "Call him Alistair!"

"I...I can't!" the scout replied, though she giggled when she said it. "It seems so strange!"

"New goal for the end of this journey!" Anders proclaimed, finger pointed to the ceiling officiously. "By the time we make it back to Denerim, you _will_ be calling him by his name!"

"Or at least be capable of doing so," Nathaniel amended at the look of horror on Sigrun's face. The dwarf smiled at him in relief.

"Spoilsport," the mage accused.

Lorelai bit her lip and smiled. It was so good to have Anders back. She couldn't show it, but it had hurt her deeply to see him go. That's when the feelings of doubt had begun, when her choices from that dark time of the Architect had started haunting her. Right decisions, wrong decisions. Joinings passed...but should they have been asked to drink the blood in the first place?

But he'd returned, and she hoped to use that as the icing on the proverbial cake of this trip. Hopefully, between Anders and the Fifth Blight "tour", she could get Sigrun to see there was no reason to leave.

"Well, I'll leave you in suspense for the night," Lorelai said, breaking up the friendly banter that had been going on during her internal musings. "Tomorrow, before we go, I'll tell you about how we met Sten."

The party broke up. As she watched them shuffle their way up the stairs of the inn, Anders poking Sigrun in the sides from behind, making the dwarf burst into raucous giggles, Lorelai ducked outside for a bit of air. An ever-present shadow, Jacob followed.

She reached down to pat his head as she looked at the star-dusted sky. She had felt empty without him those five years ago at Vigil's Keep. It was so easy to take for granted something that was always there. For a while, she'd felt like she was fighting without an arm.

Of course, Jacob had been her partner in crime for a very long time. They had been respected on the practice field, and feared on the hunt.

But as a ranger, especially, the lack of an animal nearby was a lack keenly felt.

In the breezy night air, she could feel them. Innumerable presences pulling at her from the darkness. Hearts open to her like so many books strewn across the ground, their covers spread wide, revealing their hidden secrets. Sometimes, she just liked to wade through their consciousnesses, slipping her mind among them, running them between mental fingers like strands of yarn. Feeling them, tasting them.

They were all hers to Call.

Whether they answered that Call, well, that was up to them.

"Does it look the same?" asked a voice from behind her.

Lorelai jumped a bit with surprise, hand sliding to the dagger at her belt.

"Peace, Commander," Nathaniel said with a small smile, coming to stand beside her. He had his hands raised in surrender.

"Perhaps you shouldn't sneak up on a woman wielding blades," she replied haughtily, but her grin made the loftiness a lie.

"Perhaps such a woman should be more on her guard," he responded, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed," she laughed. "Alistair would certainly never forgive me if I even break a nail on this trip."

"Well, that's a husband's prerogative." Nathaniel clasped his hands behind his back, looking up at the sky for several moments. "So, does it look the same?"

Lorelai considered her reply as her eyes roamed over the darkened village. She'd never seen it at night before. But then again, the Lothering she'd known and the one that had rose from its ashes were different enough that light or lack thereof was of little consequence.

"No," she finally answered. "it's bigger now. More hustle and bustle. The whole atmosphere is different, too. The desperation in the air is gone." She took a huge breath, and let it out slowly. "That's all I remember from Lothering that first time: desperation."

"You couldn't have helped them," he said quietly.

"No, but I'm allowed to beat myself up about it anyway, aren't I?"

"No."

She laughed. "Oh, is it as easy as 'Nathaniel says so'? Sure could've used you during the Blight. It would've saved me a whole lot of agonizing and over-analyzing!"

"Seemed like you did all right to me, Commander."

"You don't know everything," she pointed out, and managed to quell the shiver that tried to race along her skin. The Blight was a dark time...for many reasons. Fueled by black hatred and revenge, there had been little space in her mind for questioning her decisions. Even today, she didn't necessarily think she'd made bad decisions in that time. But brutal ones...definitely.

The role of leader had been cast upon her, for good or ill. She'd grasped onto the title with both hands, using its responsibilities and power to drown out the pain that wailed through her heart. She'd fooled herself into believing that she was fine, that she was in control. Lost in the abyss, and she didn't even know it.

Alistair had been the only ray of light to break through.

"I know the tales the bards sing," Nathaniel said. "I know what you did, what you accomplished."

She smiled slowly. "Bards are notoriously liars. But you'll know that by the time we make it back to Denerim."

"Indeed I will." He smiled back in the darkness, a shifting of shadows across his sharp features. "Might I escort you inside, Your Majesty?" He offered her his arm.

"Don't you start with that!" she growled, but took his arm. "I'm thoroughly behind Anders' mission to get that woman to say my husband's name at least _once_!"

Nathaniel chuckled as they ducked back inside the inn. "You cannot blame her. Besides, it's not as if we call _you_ by your name."

"That's different," Lorelai protested as they crossed the dining area to the stairs. "I'm your commanding officer, he's just-"

"The King?" Nathaniel was having a hard time keeping his laughter in check.

She gave him her best glower. "What I mean is that, in non-official conversation, just among us Wardens, she can call him by his name. Obviously, I'm not expecting her to shout it at him during a formal dinner with the Orlesian Empress!"

"Forgive me if I fail to see the logic, Commander." They reached Lorelai's room, and, just to irk her she was sure, Nathaniel bowed low. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

All right, that was _definitely_ to irk her.

"Insubordinate wretch," she responded with a grin as she shut the door.

As it closed, and as Jacob curled up on the rug by the fire, Lorelai leaned against the sturdy wood. Never in a hundred Ages would she have thought she'd count a Howe among her dearest friends, but here she was just the same. Although the former legionnaire's well-being was at the forefront of her mind...her fellow archer's came right behind it.

And now Sigrun's wild look was leaving...and Nathaniel's was, too.

If she could just show them where the Fereldan Wardens came from, show them the dirt and mire she and Alistair had struggled through to bring this country out on the other side of a Blight that, by all rights, should've eaten it alive, then maybe... Maybe she could permanently banish that caged-animal look from their eyes.

She slammed her fist against the door in disgust, causing Jacob to raise his huge head in alarm.

She didn't even know what they were looking for. How was she supposed to show it to them?

Throwing her hands up in the air in temporary resignation, she knew that she couldn't spend the entire trip dwelling on that kind of thing. Her plan would never work then. Vowing to put it firmly out of her mind, she got undressed and crawled into bed.

_A beautiful garden sprawled before her. Its immensity was staggering, and encompassing. Vines crawled up the stone walls, then latched onto the overhanging trees. Lorelai had never felt the presence of animals superceded by anything else...but here all fauna was drown out by the sheer _weight_ of the flora._

_ Looking down, she saw that her feet were on a path of flattened grass, as if the path were well-traveled. She followed it._

_ As she walked, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the greenery. Shades of green for which she had no names exploded all around her, not to mention flowers of every shape, size, and color. The proximity of so many plants was so heavy, it made her steps slow, her mind even slower._

_ "I didn't think you'd ever arrive."_

_ Lorelai raised her head slowly to see the speaker, seating on a white marble bench. "Morrigan," she whispered, not sure whether to feel apprehension or joy at the sight of the witch._

_ "Ah, it is good to see you, sister," the raven-haired woman replied._

_ Lorelai felt more than heard laughter ripple out of her own throat. "Leave you to be so casual! __I thought you were a woman of your word, Morrigan."_

_ "And how have I not been?" the apostate asked with a raised eyebrow._

_ "You said I would never see you again."_

_ Morrigan waved her hands in dismissal, a small smile on her face. "You aren't truly seeing me now, Lorelai."_

_ "I suppose you're right." The Warden looked around her again, before letting her eyes settled on her former companion. "Am I dreaming?"_

_ "Of a sorts," was the cryptic reply._

_ Lorelai's lips twisted wryly. "Never a straight answer for you."_

_ "How would you learn, if I gave you all the answers?"_

_ Laughing again, the ranger threw her arms in the air. "Too true, my friend. Too true. So, to what do I owe this...visit?"_

_ "There is a matter which requires discussion. A matter which concerns you first and foremost." Morrigan smiled reassuringly. "Come, sit." She patted the bench beside her with a pale hand._

_ Obediently coming near and placing herself on the cool marble, Lorelai felt a bit troubled. Morrigan, though not as horrible a person as all would think, was not generally the selfless type. This "matter" might be more than Lorelai wanted to deal with. But...she owed the witch much. "I didn't realize you had the power to speak to a lowly non-magical person like myself through the Fade," she commented._

_ "Do not sell yourself so short, my friend," Morrigan disagreed. "Mage you may not be, but I would hardly call you 'non-magic'. It is not just anyone who can command animals to do her bidding."_

_ "I suppose."_

_ "Besides," the witch gestured deeper into the garden, "there are many things I can do that I could not do before, now that I have my Brighid."_

_ Lorelai's gaze followed the other woman's gesture, and her heart stilled. Farther down the garden path pranced a child. Long, flowing black hair caught the filtered sunlight and skin as pale as cream seemed impossibly soft, even from this distance. The girl danced and spun, picking flowers, blowing dandelion puffs._

_ As if she felt Lorelai's eyes, the girl turned slowly. The eyes that looked at the Warden were not cool reptilian yellow...but amber._

_ A moan slipped from her throat. "What matter did you want to discuss?" she managed through numb lips. _

_"I'm sorry this hurts you. It was not my intention," Morrigan said softly._

_ Lorelai bit her lip. Though some would call her a fool, she believed her former companion. Social niceties escaped the witch; she'd never had to know them._

_ "I fear my so-called 'people skills' have degenerated back to abysmal, as opposed to the mere horrible they were under your influence," the apostate continued, as if reading Lorelai's thoughts. _

_ Perhaps she could. Now._

_ "Ah, well. One can't be the best at everything," Lorelai remarked. _

_ "One can try," Morrigan answered stubbornly. "At any rate, I have a gift for you."_

_ Lorelai finally managed to tear her eyes away from the frolicking girl-child among the flowers. "Yes?"_

_ "I appreciate stability, and I have no desire to see this country plunged into civil war again. While it is out of your control, you know that you and your...husband will be the source of this impeding problem."_

_ The Warden felt her heart twist painfully. "Is your gift to me that you remind me of my shortcomings as wife and Queen?" she snapped._

_ The other woman flushed for an instant. "No, sister. Forgive me for my heavy-handedness, but I know no other way to say it." Morrigan grew quiet for a few moments. "We worked too hard against Blight and that idiot Loghain to have it all fall apart. _You_ have worked too hard to have it all be broken once you leave."_

_ Lorelai narrowed her gaze at the witch coolly, and Morrigan looked away. "And...?"_

_ The raven-haired woman turned back, fierce joy brimming in her strange eyes. "Inside you, life clings desperately. And cling it must, for even now, as we speak, your taint threatens to expel it. This has happened before, but you did not, _could not_, know it."_

_ Her mouth went dry, and Lorelai's hands clenched into firsts reflexively. "It... I... What?"_

_ Morrigan grabbed her hands fervently. "I can stop it, Lorelai. I can give your womb the strength to keep that life inside, to push back the taint and hold onto the child!"_

_ The ranger's limbs felt like they weighed too much to move, and her spine seemed to have turned to jelly. Andraste only knew how she managed not to flop over. "How? We're two Grey Wardens. We can't... _I _can't...!"_

_ "With Brighid's help, _anything_ is possible," whispered the apostate._

_ Lorelai turned to look at the girl again. She was crouched, stroking the petals of the biggest rose she'd ever seen. Rose... _

_ "You could solve the problem of an heir much easier yourself, Morrigan," she choked out._

_ "I told you then I didn't want that!" the witch countered sternly. "That holds true now more than ever!"_

_ Still watching the girl, Lorelai whispered, "What do you want in exchange for this?"_

_ With the mage's hands still firmly gripping hers, the Warden felt the other woman stiffen. "Can I not simply be seeking to preserve a country's peace? To help a friend, my _only_ friend, who helped me time and time again?"_

_ Lorelai laughed lightly. "Oh, Morrigan, I know you too well. While those may play a part in your motivations, they aren't the whole story."_

_ There was a stretch of silence. Lorelai found herself even more riveted by the dark-haired girl playing down the path. Girl? Had she so easily blocked that from her mind? That was no girl over there...but a God. Andraste help her if that particular choice ever came to back to haunt them all. Alistair's face came to mind, and doubt was banished. For him...for the life they had together...anything._

_ "Fine. If you insist on being that way," Morrigan was saying. "When Flemeth returns-"_

_ "'Returns'?" Lorelai echoed, finally looking at her former companion again. "She'll do nothing of the sort, believe me!"_

_ "She will," Morrigan insisted, "and when she does, despite all the advantages Brighid can give me...I may need your help. Promise me that you will give it, no matter what."_

_ The ranger's skin prickled, and her mind raced with a thousand questions. In the end, she asked the only one that mattered. "The child...the taint. Will it be...?"_

_ "Your child will be free of the taint," Morrigan answered. "Do not fear. Brighid and I will take care of everything."_

_ "I promise," Lorelai replied. "Call, and I will come...with all I can bring with me."_

_ Relief flooded the witch's face. She tried to cover it, but she did a poor job. "Thank you."_

_ Lorelai's lip trembled, and she bit it swiftly. "Thank _you. _For this."_

_ "You are quite welcome," came the swift reply, coupled with a wide grin. It seemed so out of the place on the normally grouchy apostate's face. "Now, listen to me carefully, Lorelai. Just because Brighid and I can allow your body to hold onto this life, it does not mean this will be easy. You must be careful. Do not put yourself under any undue stress. _No_ fighting, no impromptu battles. You will shake the child's tenuous grip loose. That which makes you a Grey Warden will always be looking for an opportunity to push it out. _Do not _give it the chance! Do you understand me?"_

_ "Yes," she breathed, even as she thought about the trip she was on. Should she cancel it, go scurrying back to Denerim? Or should she simply take it easy? _

_ "Good," Morrigan's smile softened, and her gaze fell to the girl in the distance. "Would you like to meet her? I can call her over-"_

_ "No!" Lorelai blurted out, a little too forcefully. She did not want to look in the face of that child, and think about what Morrigan may have planned. To think...in some twisted way...Morrigan may be Alistair's child one day... "I just can't stand to see his eyes look out from..." she lied, squeezing her eyes shut. It was partially true, at least._

_ "Of course, forgive me," the mage answered. "I truly am a mess at dealing with others without you."_

_ "You never were anything other than a mess, even with my help!" Lorelai pointed out, laughing._

_ Morrigan laughed, too. "You are right, sister. Shall we wake you up then? Get a head start on being a very coddled, very _careful_ mother?"_

_ "Yes, please. Thank you again, Morrigan. For everything."_

_ The witch smiled, and brushed her hand down Lorelai's face, closing her eyelids with her fingertips._

Her eyes flashed open to bright sunlight, and for a moment she didn't move. Her hand slid down to her stomach then, and a slowly widening grin came across her face. Was it true, or just a dream?

Better to act as if it were true, despite how crushing it would be if it turned out to be a simple nighttime fantasy. After all, the truth of it would make itself evident soon enough.

It must have been that last wild night in Denerim, after being caught by Adelle. She'd thought her cycle had been a bit late, but she wasn't a woman to keep rigid track of it, so she wasn't exactly sure. At any rate, if she _had _noticed she was late, she would have thought nothing of it.

Throwing the covers off her in a flurry, she dressed quickly, nudging Jacob with her foot as she did. The mabari woofed as he woke, startled, but when he saw Lorelai he got to his feet in a rush.

As she fastened the final bit of her leather armor, she giddily wondered how much longer she'd be able to fit in it.

Out the door and down the stairs, she made her way quickly through the dining area and outside to the same place she'd stood last night. Before everything had changed. Coincidentally, the same person she'd spent that time with was there again.

"Good morning, Commander," Nathaniel said, turning to face her. "I trust you had a pleasant-" He stopped abruptly, staring a bit. "Are you all right? You look..."

"What?" Lorelai demanded. She'd have to hide this for now. She wasn't ready to make some grand announcement.

"Well," he floundered, and she was astonished to see him blush, "you're...glowing. A bit."

"For shame!" she accused, slapping his shoulder gently. "Are you suggesting I had a dalliance last night?" Lorelai asked, seizing on an opportunity to throw her entirely-too-perceptive fellow archer off the trail.

"Of course not!" he blustered. "Maker's blood, woman!"

She laughed at him, pleased with her act. "I'm going for a bit of a walk. I'll be back soon, just need to...go over some things."

His brow furrowed. "Are you sure you should go alone? I mean, you're-"

"You are worse than Alistair!" Lorelai scolded. "I'll be fine. I have Jacob."

"If you insist, Commander, but I'd much prefer-"

She cut him off. "See you soon!" Waving, she walked off, wading into the crowd before he could protest more. Jacob kept close to her side, and the dog's presence did much to cut her a path through the herd, as people avoided the hulking hound. A passing thought danced through her mind: how wonderful Jacob would be with children.

"Miss! Miss! Please help!" begged a voice by her waist, coupled with tugs on her leather skirt.

Lorelai looked down at the dirty child. "What is it?"

"My brother. Oh, we'll be in such trouble! Please, you have to come help! If our mother finds out!" the boy babbled, tugging more insistently.

"Is your brother hurt?" she demanded sternly.

"No, no, but oh, we'll be in trouble! Please, miss! Please!"

"All right, all right, I'll come." Glancing up, Lorelai noticed a break in the crowd. Nathaniel could see her, and even from this distance, she could see the concern in his questioning stare. She raised her hand to wave him off, letting him know it was all right. She watched him cross his arms in reluctant obedience just before the gap in the crowd closed again, blocking him from her view. Reaching down the take the child's hand, she said, "Let's go."


	4. Taken

Nathaniel was pacing a trench in the dirt in front of the inn, bow rustling restlessly against his back with each step. He'd sent the others to gather some breakfast, hoping that by the time they got back the Commander would have returned. An action designed to make him feel like she hadn't been gone all that long...but it had backfired horribly.

He should've kept someone with him, to distract him. Sigrun would've kept him from paying attention to the time. She was always trying to make him laugh, she said he didn't do it enough. The dark-haired woman was getting fairly good at it, too.

But all alone, it was impossible to ignore the feeling scratching at the walls of his mind.

Something was wrong. Something had happened to the Commander.

Every passing second made his suspicion worse and worse. By the time the others returned, he must have looked like a man gone mad, because their reactions were immediate.

"Andraste's skirt, what's _wrong_ with you?" Anders asked, nearly dropping the loaf of bread in his hands.

"Nathaniel," Sigrun said sternly, her dark eyes narrowed, "are you all right?"

"I'm...worried, about the Commander." He briefly explained the last time he'd seen her. "She's been gone far too long."

"Ah, boy! You're too soft!" Oghren scoffed. "That girl can take of herself. Probably saw a man hotter than that goofy Chantry boy she's got at home and took him for a spin!"

Sigrun shot the other dwarf a black look. "You really think something happened to her?" she asked Nathaniel.

He swallowed hard. Saying it all out loud made it sound so ridiculous. Perhaps he was overreacting. "I suppose I might be-" He broke off suddenly, and his fists clenched painfully.

"What?" Sigrun said sharply.

"That's the boy. The one she left with," he gritted out between his teeth, eyes fixed dangerously through the gap in the crowd. He must not loose him, he must not let the boy melt away into the surrounding people.

"Where?" Anders demanded.

"Over there, by the apple cart."

Belying his earlier dismissive remarks, Oghren was crossing the market place before anyone else could move. Displaying restraint Nathaniel hadn't thought the drunken dwarf capable of, he kept his war cries to a minimum as he threw a gnarled hand around the back of the boy's neck.

Dragging the boy mercilessly, the dwarf threw him onto the ground at Nathaniel's feet. "What did you do with her? Where is she?" he growled, squatting near the boy's head. "You'll talk, pipsqueak, because my axe has split _melons_ bigger than your runty carcass!"

Looking up from the ground, the boy's fear was plainly scrawled across his grubby features. He tried to scramble backwards, only to collide with Anders' shins. His next route of escape was then blocked by Sigrun. The full terror of the situation oozed across his young features, and his wide eyes were filled with appeal.

Appeal that was falling on deaf ears, as far as Nathaniel was concerned. He thought Oghren's approach looked wonderfully satisfying. Anything to dampen the rage and terror that wailed through his blood. His fault. He should've stopped her. Who had hurt her? His Commander, his friend-

He bent low, sliding one of his daggers out of its sheath. "Where is she, lad?" he whispered. "Where did you lead her?" Holding the knife sideways, he let the sunlight glint off the blade, flashing into the child's terrified eyes.

Sigrun shoved his hand away, and threw him a reproachful look over her shoulder. "Our friend," she said gently to the boy, "you lead her somewhere. Where did you take her?"

Latching onto Sigrun's kindness, and most likely the fact that she was a woman, the boy faced her. "I...I just took her to a spot in the woods! Just outside of town! Not far, I swear!"

"Why?" Anders asked quickly, interrupting the growl that was beginning to rumble in Nathaniel's chest.

"They...they told me to! They gave me money, see?" The boy reached into the pocket of his dirt-stained trousers and pulled out a handful of silver pieces.

"They _who_?" Nathaniel almost shouted, but managed the quell it at the last minute. They already had more attention than was good for them. The interrogation of this street urchin was beginning to be a roadside attraction.

"They didn't tell me who they were!" the child answered desperately. "They just told me to get her there!"

"Will you take us there, please?" Sigrun asked.

The child looked at her slyly, and Nathaniel could see him weighing how much this information was worth to them. Something inside him threatened to snap. The boy had two more seconds before Nathaniel Howe followed in his father's footsteps and committed an atrocity.

"Put it this way," Anders said in a very conversational tone, drawing the boy's attention. The mage allowed lightning to crackle between his palms. "You won't be able to spend those silvers if you're, say, a newt. Catch my meaning, my little friend?"

The boy gulped audibly. Reaching out, he grabbed Sigrun's hand. "I'll take you there," he said in a tiny voice.

"Good lad," Nathaniel said icily.

They left the marketplace, then Lothering. Entering the nearby forest, the shadows cast by the overhanging trees were nothing compared to the shadows racing through Nathaniel's heart. While they were walking, the vile voices in his head started over again.

_Excellent job, that. Letting her go off by herself. I don't give a damn that she's your Commander, she's also the Queen of bloody Ferelden. You don't listen when she says things like, "I'm going for a walk." You just don't. What kind of daft, idiotic moron, are you? If she's hurt, you'd best throw yourself into the nearest river with your pockets filled with rocks, since you'll be officially the most Maker-forsaken useless man in the world. Or, you could always wait for the King to behead you. That works, too._

"Would you mind unclenching...everything, Nathaniel?" Sigrun suggested from in front of him, where the boy still had a death grip in her hand. She had turned around, and was giving him her best glower. "You're going to burst a blood vessel. Probably an important one, too."

Despite everything, he had a wild urge to laugh.

"There, right there!" the boy exclaimed, pointed ahead of them. "Can I go...please?"

"You may," Sigrun said. The boy tried to dash away, but the former legionnaire grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragging him in front of her face. "Mark my words, dirt clod. If you have played us for fools, I will hunt you down myself. Do I make myself clear?"

The boy nodded frantically.

She gave him a smile that was more a baring of teeth, and the tattoos on her face shifted menacingly. "With that in mind, are you _sure_ this where you led her?"

"Swear," he whispered.

"By the stone, you better be telling the truth...for _your_ sake." Sigrun released the boy, who disappeared so fast for a moment Nathaniel had to convince himself that he'd been there at all.

Looking at Sigrun, he saw her normally dark skin had an ashen tone to it. "Impressive," he said tightly. Seemed a ridiculous time to be reassuring her, but he oddly couldn't help himself.

"Well, I _am_ impressive, so that's to be expected," she responded, but it wasn't with her usual flare. "Ready?"

He nodded.

Sigrun turned and nodded to Oghren, who hefted his axe and gave her a lecherous wink. The pair of them entered the clearing first. The short, scrubby brush swung closed behind them and Nathaniel felt his heart accelerate as it always did at these moments. Waiting to see if there were foes to be fought, waiting to pick his position, waiting for the information the scout was to deliver.

"_Anders!"_

Sigrun's scream filled Nathaniel's throat with bile. The mage jolted with surprise, before he took off at a run. Nathaniel was hot on his heels, his mind throwing image after horrid image before his eyes. They crashed through the underbrush, and came to a grinding halt on the other side.

Sigrun was in the middle of a clearing, kneeling in a pool of blood beside a hulking form.

"Jacob," whispered Nathaniel, his voice sounding like someone else's to his ears.

With a groan, Anders ran over and got to his knees beside the mabari. An ethereal glow began to coalesce around his hands.

Nathaniel gritted his teeth and looked away. From his position, the dog looked dead. But fortunately, that was not his news to break to Sigrun, whose desperate sobs made him want to cover his ears.

The rest of the scene in front of his eyes threatened to overwhelm him, too. Given the choice between attempting to sort out the visual mess versus trying to deal with the gut-wrenching weeping coming from the dwarf, Nathaniel firmly fixed his gaze upon the clearing.

Blood. Crossbow bolts. Shattered glass. Drag marks. Blood. Torn pieces of cloth. Broken branches. Trampled grass. Discarded daggers. _Blood_.

Oh, Maker preserve him...

_Think, Nathaniel! _hisbrain shouted. _Think! You're of no use if you can't think__! _

Pressing his palms hard against his temples, he tried to breathe evenly. To stop seeing the implications of what was before him and see the pieces instead.

Blood. Someone or some_ones_, maybe the Commander or maybe not, was hurt. Badly by the looks of the amount splashed all over the ground. The bolts meant she'd fired at least half a dozen times. Short work for someone as skilled at the Commander. They also meant that perhaps the blood wasn't hers, at all.

His foot prodded a large piece of glass gingerly. With no bodies around, the drag marks were obvious. They'd cleaned up their casualties. Common bandits didn't, as a general rule, bother to remove the bodies of their comrades. Reaching down, he brought the shard of glass near his nose.

Nathaniel recoiled instantly. He was no assassin, so poisons and drugs were far beyond his realm of understanding. One didn't need to be an expert, however, for the reek of heady ingredients to be detected. Whatever had been in this flask was powerful.

Drag marks...

Nathaniel crouched impulsively, and stuck his bare hand into the nearest puddle of cool blood. Then, he let the Grey tingle down his arm and pulse from his fingertips. When his senses registered not the slightest hint of recognition, he felt he could've wept with relief.

This wasn't the Commander's blood, and he was willing to wager that _none_ of it was. Perhaps a little, just to show her they'd meant business. But for the most part, this blood would belong to her assailants. Those who were left, that was.

He got to his feet and crossed to the center of the clearing. There was no time to lose.

Sigrun looked up at him, tears streaming down her reddening face. The dwarf's frantic eyes seemed to punch Nathaniel in the gut, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. "Is he...?" he finally managed.

"He's alive, Andraste only know how," Anders answered curtly, hands surrounded in frail light still spread over the dog like he was administering a blessing. Nathaniel supposed he was, sort of.

"What did you find?" Sigrun asked tightly.

"She's been taken, I'm sure of it," he replied.

"Oh, sharp skills, that!" Oghren spat from across the clearing, where he was venting his anger on a hapless tree via his battle axe. "What a treasure ya are!"

"Shut it!" Sigrun snapped at him. "That's not how he means it!"

"Too right, my lovely lady of the stone," Anders said through gritted teeth as he focused on his work. "He means it with a capital 'T', don't you?"

Nathaniel nodded grimly. "They ambushed her, subdued her, then dragged her off. This wasn't random."

Sigrun bit her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Ah, we'd best leave our feet out of this arena, dear," Anders advised. "While the Circle Tower was...entertaining, I have no illusions that I have the political knowledge to understand why Nathaniel's 'noble' sense is tingling. I simply trust that it is."

Sigrun seemed to think it over, and Nathaniel found himself hanging on her answer. If Sigrun doubted him, if she did not see this as he saw it, then perhaps it wasn't there to be seen.

"What do we do?" she asked.

A breath he didn't know he was holding rushed out in a gust. "Sigrun, take Oghren to Denerim, as fast as you can. You have to tell the King. Be sure to tell him in private, or as privately as you can. We don't know who our friends are right now. Anders, take Jacob and go to Vigil's Keep. Tell Varel what's happened, but only Varel. No one else. Wait there to see what the King wants to do."

"_Denerim_?" Sigrun demanded, face growing stormy. "You're going to follow their trail, aren't you?" She didn't wait for his reply. "You're not going alone. I'm coming with you!"

"No, you're not." Nathaniel tried to be gentle and firm with his tone, but in his chest, his heart galloped roughly. He had no right to order any of them. Sigrun could challenge him as much as she wished. He couldn't afford anyone who would slow him down. "I'm the hunter, Sigrun. The tracker. I can follow them without being seen."

"And _I'm_ the scout!" she shouted roughly. "In case you forgot, scouting ahead is pretty much my job."

"Scouting, but not tracking," Anders reminded her. "Leave be, Sigrun. Let him go. Besides, do you really want Oghren to be the one to tell the King about this?"

Her face paled considerably, and her hands clenched into fists. "No," she muttered.

Nathaniel relaxed and mentally thanked the mage. "I'll go after them, pick up the trail. I'll make sure my trail is clear behind me, though I'm sure the King will have no trouble finding a tracker more experienced than I to follow me."

Sigrun huffed loudly and crossed her arms with poor grace. "Fat chance. _You're_ the best tracker this side of the Amaranthine Ocean, Nathaniel."

His stomach swirled with an odd rush of warmth at the compliment, and he gave the dwarf a half smile. "Then I'll be sure to make my trail very obvious."

Getting to her feet, the former legionnaire leveled her considerable stare at Nathaniel. "You listen to me, Howe. If the Commander couldn't handle them all, _you_ can't handle them all. Don't try to take them on yourself." She took a deep breath, and if possible, her glare became sterner. "If I walk clear across Ferelden to find you half-dead in a ditch somewhere, by the stone, I'll-!"

Jacob lifted his head suddenly, and immediately started whimpering and trying to get up.

"Easy, boy. Easy!" Anders scolded, wrapping his arms around the mabari's neck in an attempt to keep him still. "You've had a pretty rough morning."

Looking at all of them in turn, Jacob then laid his ears against his skull and howled brokenly.

Sigrun clapped her hands over her ears. "Jacob, stop! Please!" she begged. "Nathaniel will find her. We're going to take you home!"

Nathaniel didn't know how much the mabari really understood, but Sigrun's words sent him into a panic. He began pushing to his feet, and Anders was no match for the dog's strength. Staggering weakly from his ordeal, Jacob managed to escape the mage and hide behind Nathaniel.

"Jacob, come on," Sigrun said soothingly. "You're hurt. We have to get you back to-"

He barked, interrupting her, and peeked around Nathaniel's hip reproachfully.

"Not a ranger, hmm?" Anders said, looking up at the archer.

"He's no ranger. The mutt says he's going with Nathaniel. Thought that'd be plain as the stone under your feet," snorted Oghren, finally joining their circle. The tree he'd vented his anger on looked near to toppling over, its trunk scarred and broken.

"He needs rest, not a trek through the woods," Anders argued.

"_You_ tell him that, witch boy," the red-haired dwarf laughed. "I'll find me a good seat to watch."

Anders sighed helplessly, and turned to the Nathaniel. "Well, fearless leader, any bright ideas?"

Nathaniel felt his gorge rise up and hit the back of his throat. "Fearless leader" was _not_ his name, it was the Commander's name. And he planned on giving it back to her as soon as humanly possible.

He craned his head around and looked down at the mabari. Never before had he seen such begging, such determination. In a flash of understanding, he knew how Jacob felt. Responsible. Guilty. It was how _he_ felt. And who was he to deny the hound the chance to redeem himself, when he was taking the opportunity with both hands? "He can come with me," Nathaniel whispered.

"Well, then there's nothing left to discuss. The more we dally, the more ground they gain." Anders got to his feet and gestured to Sigrun. "Come on, my darling dwarf, it will be a while before we're forced to split up. I'll leave you alone with Oghren for as little time as possible."

"Hey, watch your tongue, ya maggoty, nug-humping, skirt-wearing-"

Sigrun, momentarily ignoring the mage, gave Nathaniel that look again.

"Now I have Jacob. No need to worry about me," Nathaniel assured her. "There won't be a scratch on me, promise."

"Nathaniel, I-" She broke off, clamping her mouth shut. Her fingers twisted themselves into knots, and she chewed her lower lip for a moment. "Just...just..."

"I will, Sigrun. Now, go." He pointed to Anders and Oghren, who were squabbling their way out of the clearing. "They won't even notice they've left you behind if you don't hurry."

Grinning fiercely, she winked. "Would that be so bad?"

Laughing, Nathaniel reached down, the sudden urge to sweep a lock of hair out of her eyes seizing him. What was he doing? He jerked his hand back, brought it down to his side. He was no wanton flirt like Anders. Where in the Maker's name had _that_ come from? "Go," he said, smiling to make light of the strange thing he'd just almost done.

Her eyes narrowed at his aborted gesture, and he wondered if she knew what he wanted to do, and was displeased. "Fine, but we'll be back."

"I know."

She finally started walking away. Just before she left the clearing, she turned and gave him one last look. Her eyes were filled with worry...and something else that Nathaniel couldn't quite place.

"I'll find her, Sigrun," he said, answering the unasked question.

Nodding once, she pushed past the bushes and was gone from sight.

Nathaniel looked down at Jacob. "Ready, boy?" Giving as strong a woof as he could muster, the mabari wagged his stub of a tail. "Good." Letting his eyes drift, Nathaniel scanned the clearing until he found what he was looking for: a section of brush so trampled, so broken, it could only be the captors' exit. "That way."


	5. A Wing's Beat Away

Alistair laid his hands flat on his desk and looked up at the only father-figure he had left in his life. Though Duncan had been more father to him in six months than Arl Eamon had been in all the years Alistair had lived under his roof.

"Are you hinting at what I _think_ you're hinting at, Arl Eamon?" Alistair asked, feeling like the coolness of the wood under his palms was seeping into his hands, up his arms. Good. Perhaps it could soothe the hot anger that was beginning to throb in his brain.

"A friendly inquiry between men," the gray-haired man said, spreading his hands wide in innocence.

"I don't consider it a 'friendly inquiry' to ask about my sex life," Alistair said bluntly. "So, unless you have some other point you'd like to get to, you'll want to leave off that sort of buddy-buddy talk."

"If you insist on having it this way, then so be it." Eamon's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms. "The nobles are beginning to talk...about the absence of an heir."

Alistair felt like something in his chest had come loose from its moorings, and was now thrashing about against his ribs uncontrollably. Of course, it was difficult for a Grey Warden to have a child. Two Grey Wardens, well, that was nigh-impossible. But Eamon didn't know that, nor did any of the other nobles. The High Commander at Weisshaupt, enraged though he was at the marriage and subsequent elevation to royalty of two Wardens, had kept his mouth blessedly shut on the matter.

Or perhaps Eamon did know. Why else would he bring this up? Unless he just thought Lorelai barren, in which case, he-

"We are not having this conversation," Alistair said as he felt his face turn into an emotionless mask. Lorelai had told him he was far too expressive, that he gave everything away. He'd been practicing since then, trying to emulate the ice-cold countenance she often had in public. By the look on the Arl's face, he had succeeded.

"We _must_ talk about it, Alistair," Eamon countered, though the command in his voice was gone. "You know that I adore Lorelai, everyone does, but-"

Alistair was on his feet before he'd made any conscious effort to be. "I have been back to Ostagar, Arl Eamon," he said tightly. "I have seen the letters you wrote to Cailan before his death. Do not think to suggest the same things to me."

"There must be an heir." Eamon held his ground, though he'd uncrossed his arms. His hands were pleading now instead. "I am not suggesting you set her aside, but perhaps an...alternative method is in order."

"Get out," Alistair growled. "Right now."

"Alistair!" The Arl's face was one of comic surprise. Under different circumstances, Alistair may have actually laughed. "Did we rid Ferelden of Loghain's mad tyranny simply to be right back where we started once you and Lorelai are gone?"

"Get out," Alistair repeated, feeling his heart pounding dangerously fast.

"Alistair, please-"

"If you wish the embarrassment of being thrown out, I can arrange that," Alistair snapped, cutting him off.

Eamon glared at him, all signs of cajoling gone. He lifted a finger, as if to scold a child. "You must listen to reason! You must-"

"Quiet," Alistair ordered suddenly. In the halls, he could hear a commotion of some kind, the guards' voices raised in angry alarm. Now adrenaline crashed through his veins along with anger. He was hoping someone had tried to infiltrate the castle. And he was _really_ hoping that person had evaded the guards and was coming straight for him.

The idea of splitting someone's skull open sounded perfect right now.

But the guards would never let anyone get that close to the precious King. No, no. If he wanted action, he'd have to leave the study and find it for himself.

Not caring about Arl Eamon in the slightest at the moment, Alistair came out from behind the desk and was through the door before his former caretaker could even utter a question. Following the noise, he winded through the twists and turns of the corridors easily. He knew this path: it was going toward the throne room.

"I don't _care_ what rank you are, you sodding moron! We're going to see the King and the likes of _you_ are not going to stop us!"

Alistair stopped dead in his tracks in the hall. Where did he know that voice? It was naggingly familiar. Apparently there wasn't going to be skull-cracking today, after all. Pity. It seemed to be just some enthusiastic callers. Well, he supposed he should smooth over what was going on, anyway.

"Look here, nug-licker, tell that shield-carryin' pansy to get out here! We've got something he's gonna wanna hear!"

Now _that_ voice he'd know anywhere, unfortunately. Quickening his pace, Alistair turned the corner, entering the corridor just outside the throne room, in time to see one of the guards attempting to take Oghren's battle axe. The surly dwarf was about to put up a fight to keep it. A fight that, Alistair knew, would end in more than a few dead guards.

"Stand down, gentlemen," he said, entering the room.

"But, Your Majesty," blurted one of the guards. "These two just walked in-"

"As they should've. They're Wardens." Looking now, it was extremely easy to remember who the other voice belonged to. Sigrun blushed and stammered in his presence more than anyone else he'd ever encountered. Hard to forget someone like that.

"Apologies, Your Majesty." The guard gestured swiftly, and the rest backed off. The one wrestling with Oghren dropped his half of the axe and retreated an extra few paces out of the dwarf's reach.

"Yeah, you better run," Oghren grunted.

"Back to your posts, then," Alistair said, waving his hands at them. Normally, he would not have been so curt, but his blood still boiled at his conversation with Eamon, and now a nagging feeling of dread was starting to seep into his mind. Theses two should be with Lorelai. Why were they here? "I'm sorry about that, my friends. They can be a bit...overzealous in their duties."

"We need to speak with you, Your Majesty. In private," Sigrun said as the guards left, speaking for the first time since Alistair had appeared. "It's urgent."

The dread increased to a deluge, drowning out the unspent adrenaline and smothering the rage. "As you wish. Come this way." He gestured for them to follow him

At first, Alistair didn't even know where he was taking them. It seemed his feet knew something he was not privy to. Soon, however, the path became clear. Opening the door, he led them into the practice room.

Their footsteps echoed in the bare room, scattering the dust that lined the floor. He and Lorelai had not been using it lately, but just walking into it brought back memories of their first months in the palace. No darkspawn to fight, a real roof over their heads, and political problems around every turn. They'd stumbled onto this room accidentally, and immediately took it over with all their armor and weapons.

It had given them a sense of normalcy to practice. With their lives suddenly so different from anything they'd ever experienced before, especially for Alistair, it had been calming to boil everything down to fighting.

The room made him feel comfortable, loose, which was good. He had a feeling he was going to need it. Spinning to face the two dwarves, Alistair resisted the urge to clench his hands into nervous fists. "Well?"

Sigrun's new confidence seemed to finally fail her. She twisted her hands as her brow furrowed. "Your Majesty..."

"Girl, if you make me say it, I swear on the grave on my cheatin', lyin' wife, I'll-" Oghren threatened.

She shot him a glare, and steel strengthened her spine again. "Your Majesty, the Commander has been taken."

For a moment, Alistair could only stare at the woman before him. "What...did you just say?"

Sigrun repeated herself, but he didn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything over the furious bellowing inside his head, like a wounded predator had been let out of its cage to run rough-shod in his mind. And wounded it was.

Lorelai always said they were each many different people all bound together in one body. He agreed, but he'd never felt it like he felt it now.

The wounded creature was the part of him named Husband. The part named Lover. And it was screaming its throat raw.

Pressing his palms to his temples, he started backing up, backing _away_ from the reality the two dwarven Wardens had brought to his doorstep. He didn't stop until he collided with the far wall, half-sliding, half-collapsing to the floor. He buried his face in his hands.

What in the Maker's name was he supposed to _do_?

He knew what he _wanted_ to do. Take every single army Ferelden had and raze the entire country to the ground. That would make it easy to find her, wouldn't it? Oh, he'd rebuild it, not to worry.

_Can't raise the armies, love_, his wife's voice echoed in his head. _It might be political. You raise the armies, let all of Thedas know that someone has taken your Queen...and they've already won._

Might be? He had a hard time believing it was anything other than political. But he could think of no enemies, none who would do such a thing. The only part of his brain not being consumed by the screaming, the only part still able to function, ran down a mental list of Ferelden's relations with every country he could think of.

Who cared who'd done it? That could be sorted out later. Husband was calling for blood, and Alistair was extremely inclined to oblige it.

His hands clenched convulsively, and his nails dug into the skin of his face. If so much as one hair on Lorelai's head was out of place, he would _bathe_ in the blood of those who had done it. Maker damn morality, fairness, and justice. He wanted the heads of those responsible. Preferably on pikes outside the palace gates.

If not the armies, then what? Just him and her Wardens? He didn't like that, not one bit. No offense to them, but other than Oghren, he hadn't fought with a single one of them. Now was not the time to be figuring out each other's fighting styles.

Sigrun was saying something from nearby, something about Nathaniel Howe, about a tracker.

Tracker? He needed more than a tracker, he needed _help_. But where to get help? Sigrun had asked to speak in private because she didn't know who she could trust, and how could he know, either? He hadn't felt so short on allies since...

_Allies are but a wing's beat away,_ Lorelai's voice whispered.

Lurching to his feet, he almost knocked Sigrun over, who'd been crouched by his side. He reached down to steady her, an automatic reaction, before bolting from the practice room. From behind him, he heard Oghren's surprised shout, and Sigrun's snarled command of, "Just follow him!"

Alistair had no idea how he managed to make it to the roof. He certainly didn't _feel_ coherent enough to have made it, and yet here he was. Shoving the door open forcefully, he startled the very creatures he was there to see.

As they turned to glare at the disturbance, he abruptly remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on them.

_Lorelai stood on the roof of the castle, their companions gathered around her in a loose half-circle. Alistair stood off to the side, trying to hid a bemused grin behind his hand. Though what his new wife had planned was a mystery to him, as well, he was having a problem mustering up curiosity. _

_ It was that whole "new wife" thing that kept blocking his mind from doing anything constructive. _

_ Watching Lorelai's wedding gown billow in the wind like the sails of a great merchant ship, he inhaled deeply as the scent of perfume borne on that wind caressed his skin. A goofy grin plastered itself across his face. Oh yes, he was going to be borderline useless for quite some time._

_ "Shouldn't you be starting your honeymoon?" Leliana asked, fluttering her eyelashes._

_ "Oh, Leliana, my crimson-haired flower, they started that months ago!" Zevran, his arm linked with the bard beside him, gave her a nudge in the ribs. "Unless your hearing failed you all those nights in camp, you should know that."_

_ The Orlesian giggled and batted her eyes in mock innocence. "Why, Zev! Whatever can you mean?"_

_ The pair broke up into laughter, and Lorelai rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "One of the many blessings of the end of the Blight: finally splitting _you_ two up!"_

_ Zevran gasped, slapping a hand to his cheek in distress. "We have failed to entertain the Queen with our traveling show! Alas, she will behead us!"_

_ "No! Not my head!" Leliana's face was properly horrified, before she fluffed her red locks whimsically. "Where would I keep my hair?"_

_ "Enough!" Lorelai shouted, laughing. "I'm trying to make a sad, yet uplifting speech here!"_

_ "That appears to be going well," Alistair chimed, tilting his head to the side innocently._

_ "Don't _you_ start." She waggled her finger threateningly in his direction. "You're stuck with me. They, on the other hand..."_

_ "We'll be good," Leliana assured her with a slight bow._

_ Zevran made a locking motion near his lips and tossed the "key" over his shoulder._

_ "Thank you," Lorelai said, getting the last giggles out of her system. Falling silent, she began idly tracing the edge of the stone wall with a fingertip._ _"Forgive me, I'm no good at goodbyes."_

_ Alistair felt his heart clench at her tone, and he watched the line of her shoulders shift, stiffen, brace for what was coming._

_ "I want to thank you all for many things. For your aid in our quest, which we would've most certainly failed without you. For sticking around when things got dark, because I never would found the light at the end without every...single...one of you." _

_ Lorelai looked up finally, and the dying sunlight lit up the tears in her eyes like flecks of crystal. Alistair wanted to go to her, to ease the sadness that gripped her, but he wouldn't. She had something to say, and she would never forgive him for ruining her speech._

_ "For sticking around, and helping us rebuild Denerim," she continued. "For staying for the wedding." Grinning, she gave them all a wink. "It would've felt...empty without you there."_

_ "It was an honor, _kadan_," Sten rumbled from the back of the group, his expressionless face as hard as always._

_ Lorelai inclined her head at his words. "So, since we owe you so much, I decided not to say goodbye, at all."_

_ "Ah, this is the part where she holds up captive," Leliana whispered sinisterly, grabbing the former Crow next to her. "Run, save yourself, my friend!"_

_ "I have no wish to be a captive again," Shale responded in a decidedly grumpy voice._

_ "She's kidding, Shale," Lorelai said quickly, holding her hands up._

_ The golem grunted noncommittally._

_ "Anyway," Lorelai cast a stern eye on a still-giggling Leliana, "I had something a little more...freeing in mind." Turning behind her, she unlatched a large wooden door and swung it open._

_ Alistair blinked in surprise as their companions burst into a mixed babble of surprise and wonder. Inside the large structure that had gradually been built over the last few days stood several very large, very steely-eyed, very...unpleasant-looking-_

_ "Birds!" Shale's bright eyes narrowed dangerously. "It made me sit through that strange ceremony, and then it dragged me onto the very top of this structure...just to put me in such close proximity to birds!"_

_ Wynne reached out to place a restraining hand on the golem's massive stone arm. "Perhaps we should hear what Lorelai has to say about them, before we go about squishing heads."_

_ "Hmph! I shall not squish anything. For now."_

_ Lorelai mouthed a quick "thank you" to the white-haired mage, who nodded with that ever-present enigmatic smile on her face. "No bird has a better sense of smell than a vulture," she commented idly, reaching out to stroke the bald, wrinkled head of the nearest bird. "And these vultures have been trained to smell for you, and only you, my friends."_

_ Alistair, despite his own surprise, noticed Zevran's eyes narrow intently._

_ "I have spent many hours...discussing the nature of my requests with them," Lorelai was saying. "They have agreed. Each vulture has memorized one of your scents. If we should ever need you, they can find you, no matter where you are."_

_ Leliana clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how wonderful! I didn't know rangers could do that!"_

_ "They can't," Zevran said, speaking despite his "locked" lips. All traces of humor were gone, and in its place was awed respect. He bowed his head to Lorelai. "I feel you'd be hard-pressed to find even another master ranger capable of what she has done."_

_ Lorelai blushed, and fussed with her wedding gown. "We all have our talents."_

_ "So...I never have to see this bird unless it requests my presence?" Shale demanded._

_ "That's it, Shale. I promise," Lorelai answered._

_ Shale's gems flared a bit, their light casting small strange shadows across her body. "It shall be as you ask."_

_ Alistair raised an eyebrow a few inches, but he seemed to be the only one who'd noticed the change in pronoun that Shale had used. Or, perhaps everyone else noticed and was refraining from drawing attention to it._

_ After Shale's acquiescence, the rest nodded and muttered agreement. _

_ "Now, if we ever find ourselves in as big a mess as the Blight again," Lorelai grinned with a bit of pride, "allies are but a wing's beat away."_

Alistair scrambled for the scraps of paper kept in the compartmentnext to the great wooden structure. The vultures eyed him with interest, their cold glares fixed on him with enough intensity to make him nervous. He started writing, struggling to make sure his penmanship didn't make the messages completely illegible.

Sigrun and Oghren burst onto the rooftop just as he was finished with the last one. Oghren burst into raucous laughter. "Smarter than I thought by half! I'm impressed, boy!"

"What are-?" Sigrun's tone was bewildered, to put it mildly.

"Fancy meeting a slew of war heroes?" Oghren asked her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Suddenly, he turned to face Alistair. "Hey, is there one for-"

"No," answered Alistair shortly, knowing what the dwarf was asking. "She never trained one for herself. These came from the Anderfels; she could only get enough for the lot of you." While he spoke, he approached the vultures cautiously. They weren't exactly inspiring him to move any faster, with their unfriendly eyes, curved beaks, and wicked talons. Feeling his mouth dry up, his feet stuttered to a stop.

He'd never been up here without Lorelai. He had no idea how the birds were going to react if he approached them. Suppose they attacked him? Suppose he was forced to injure them, or even kill them, to save himself? It would be the end to the only plan he had.

Worse, what if they simply wouldn't do it without her? What if they just sat here in their shelter, and ignored him?

"Please," he said to them, forcing his feet to close the distance separating them and holding the scraps of paper out. "Please. Take these to our friends. I need them."

For an agonizing half a minute, they simply glowered at him, alien eyes full of disdain and mistrust. Alistair felt the roaring in his head grow louder, as if it could make itself heard to scare the vultures into doing its bidding.

Finally, one of them shuffled forward and stuck its leg out.

In the tidal wave of relief, Alistair almost tied the wrong message to the bird in front of him. He forced his shaking hands to calm, forced his howling mind to think.

_Colors, darling._

Right. They were color-coded with bright bands on the birds' legs. Green for Zevran, red for Leliana...

In a few minutes, all the messages were ready. "Please," he whispered again.

With a rush of wing beats and an explosion of loose feathers, the vultures pulled themselves into the air above the palace. Alistair watched them until they disappeared into the horizon. His only hope went with them; he could think of no other solution.

His ribs squeezed his heart in a sudden, painful jerk. Lorelai might not have the time it would take for their friends to respond, let alone get here. This might be nothing more than a waste of time, a waste of his wife's life.

Smothering the panic, Alistair took a deep breath. Despite his terror, despite the howls of Husband and Lover, another part of him knew better. It was a part of him he hadn't thought actually existed, but it made its surprising presence known with its icy grip of logic.

Of course she had time. Under the assumption that this was political, that meant whoever had done it wanted something. Money, land, power. Something. Killing her would gain them nothing.

_They'd lose their bargaining chip,_ Lorelai agreed, her smooth confidence helping to soothe his panic even more.

And if it was political, but they sought to murder his wife to blame another nation? Or to so stricken him with grief that he could be easily manipulated, or easily usurped?

That cold, implacable new (although not so much new as extremely well hidden until now) aspect of himself shook its head. No. That was not what they wanted. He could feel it in his bones. Alistair tried to solidify that feeling, knowing he would need it in the days to come. Days that would be filled with nothing but waiting.

"Sigrun," he whispered, not taking his eyes off the spot on the horizon where the vultures had vanished.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" she answered immediately.

"I believe you mentioned that Anders had gone to Vigil's Keep."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"We'll send him a message, tell him to return here with a few members of the Silver Order."

"Ha! I like the way you think, boy!" Oghren grunted. "We never did have enough warriors in our camp."

"Who should I ask him to bring, Your Majesty?"

Alistair paused for a moment. Who, indeed?

_Ask Sigrun. _Lorelai's voice brushed his thoughts like wind through the plains. _She'll know them, her choices will be good ones._

"Who do you think?" he asked her.

There was lump of silence, but still Alistair didn't turn around. Let the woman think. And he was fairly certain that she would be able to think better if he wasn't staring at her.

"Aednat and Aideen, Your Majesty," she finally answered.

"The Twins?" Oghren's bark of surprise was quickly following by rough laughter. "You want to bring those hellcats with us?"

"We call them the Twins, but they aren't related, Your Majesty," she explained. "They fight like they're one person, as if they know each other's thoughts. They are greatly feared in battle, if a bit...wild."

"'Wild'?" Oghren echoed. "That's an understatement! Point those two girls in the direction of anyone or anything you want dead, and just stand back!"

"Sounds good to me," Alistair answered. "Sounds perfect, actually, as long as they leave some for me."

"Aaah, I can't guarantee that, Your Majesty," Sigrun answered, and Alistair thought he detected a note of – Maker forbid – humor in her voice.

"Well, I'll just have to move quickly, then, won't I?"

"Indeed," the former legionnaire agreed.

In the following silence, Alistair tried to solidify his grip on the strange, recently-surfaced part of himself. He would need it, along with the knowledge that there was time for waiting. Its thoughts, its ideas felt so alien. And yet it was so soothing, so brutally capable of making decisions that Husband and Lover could not. Husband and Lover weren't going to be any good to him right now. They would only be useful much later, when it was time to make those responsible answer for their crimes. Until then, he'd have to rein them in, keep them in check, and try to keep their roars of pain and rage quiet enough that the newly discovered part could think.

The new part nodded its head as it flowed through his mind and body. Alistair's lips curled in a small, bitter smile. All those who whispered their doubts of him in darkened corridors and shadowed rooms could be invited to shut their mouths. Five years in the making, and only showing itself in an event of extreme necessity, it was there nevertheless.

The aspect of himself named King had finally stepped forward into the light.


	6. Pursuit

**Thank you to each and every one of you who reviewed, favorited, and story alerted. Nothing motivates a writer like *singing* reviewsssss.**

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Lorelai rubbed her shaking hands over her face wearily. She'd tried very hard to keep a grip on it, but eventually she'd completely lost track of how much time had gone by. At least a week...but she feared the actual number of weeks would be enough to break her fragile grasp on control and let panic flood in.

Pulling her dirt-encrusted hands away from her face, she watched them for a time in the flickering firelight. Normally so deft, so nimble. She'd never met a lock she couldn't pick, a knot she couldn't untie. Now they trembled like the last autumn leaves in the last autumn breeze, still clinging stubbornly to the branches of the slumbering trees.

Clenching her hands into fists suddenly, she bit her lip in fury. Traitorous hands. Traitorous mind.

She released her lip before she drew blood, and sucked in a deep breath. It was unfair to place blame on her hands, on her mind. Their state wasn't their fault. It was just so much easier to blame some aspect of herself than to admit that things were so entirely out of her control.

She glanced down at her legs, hobbled to a large piece of wood for the night. Any other time, the idea of something as simple as being hobbled keeping her from escaping was hilarious. But that damned drug they kept giving her... It made almost everything impossible.

It stole her fingers' agility. It suffocated her reflexes, making her movements like that of an old woman. It shackled her mind's communication with her body, leaving only the essential functions intact. She felt a prisoner in her own body, her brain helpless to make her limbs do what they were told. Unless the orders were simplistic: walk, eat, sit, stand. Anything more complex than that and her body was unable to comply.

Worst of all, most panic-inducing of all, the drug completely, utterly, smothered her ranger abilities. She could not feel any animals, even the horses standing nearby. Their absence made her feel more alone than she'd ever felt in her entire life.

Zevran would know what it was if he were here, she was sure of that. Without her elven assassin, however, Lorelai was at loss as to what was coursing through her veins. Deep in the back of her mind, a frantic voice kept wondering if this...thing...they laced her food and drink with would hurt the baby. Even deeper, a bitter voice asked if there was even a baby to worry about anymore.

Lorelai wrapped her arms around her midsection tightly. She hadn't exactly obeyed Morrigan's commands to be careful and coddled, had she? But she hadn't been given much of a choice, either.

That day had decomposed into a messy blur. Though the drug left her mind mostly whole, it seemed to blur her short-term memory. She had no doubt that it was a contributing factor to her having lost track of time. She was normally very good at that sort of thing. If she could forget that day, however, it would be the only blessing the drug would grant.

She remembered the boy racing ahead of her, remembered trying to keep up without exerting herself too hard. She remembering thinking, good-naturedly, this pregnancy thing was already annoying; she couldn't even run.

She remembered the clearing, and the boy being no where in sight. She'd raised her voice, calling out to him. No response came to her.

Then _they_ had come. Jacob's hackles had lifted a second before they showed themselves, materializing through the bushes like wraiths. They did not have the lecherous grin of bandits, or the smirk of practiced thieves. They did not smile, at all. Their faces had held nothing but determination. Nothing but purpose.

That was when she had known she was in trouble.

Jacob was off without a word, taking one man down just as a bolt from her crossbow buried itself in another's throat. As he crumbled soundlessly, the rest continued to advance.

The rest of the fight was lost in the fog of the drug. She remembered firing more bolts, maybe, while Jacob slaughtered whoever was in reach. She remembered being grabbed from behind, her crossbow being knocked out of her hands. She remembered Jacob beginning to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of men that just _kept coming_ out of the brush.

Reaching out, even as her physical body struggled, she'd waded through the forest with her power. The nearby wolf pack, already alerted by all the commotion, was too perfect. It was within her to Call them all. The entire pack.

She'd just put the finishing touches on the Call, been ready to send it down the thread her mind had connected to the wolves' presences.

"Kill the mabari," a man had whispered.

Her concentration had shattered, snapping the fragile Call into a thousand pieces, as the men descended in a focused cluster. Jacob's snarls of anger and battle lust changed to howls of pain...then to cries of mortal injury.

She'd screamed then, a wordless wail of anguish. Their bodies blocked him from her view, and when his cries stopped altogether, she'd screamed again.

Someone had grabbed a fistful of her thick hair, wrenching her head back painfully. Before she'd been able to reason, to shut her mouth, they'd poured the nasty concoction down her throat. They'd ambushed her with it, and now it was either swallow or choke.

The effect had been immediate, as they'd known it would be. They released her from their hold, even before she'd finished her surprised, convulsive swallowing. She'd fallen to her knees as her legs turned to water. Smoke rolled over everything, and her ranger senses were crushed into silence beneath the weight.

The rest was well and truly lost. She vaguely remembered being carried, being thrown onto a horse with someone sitting behind her to keep her in the saddle. She had a sense of a cloak being tossed around her shoulders, of its hood being yanked over her head. They didn't need to make her keep her face down. She hadn't the strength to lift it, anyway.

Once everything had cleared and the smoke had eased away, and all the events had come rushing back to her, there'd been an ill-advised escape attempt. Actually, it had been more like a tavern brawl...if the person who started the brawl was so drunk they could barely stand.

She'd flailed, thrown wild punches, scrambled, fell, kicked, and screamed herself hoarse.

Once they'd gotten her under control, maintaining the same efficient silence they had in the clearing, they'd offered her food. It was only after she'd grudgingly eaten it, right as the smoke was descending again, that she'd realized how well-prepared these men were.

Starving herself would do no good. She had to eat. They knew it, and they knew _she_ knew it. And so the perpetual cycle of the drug began.

"How are you feeling this evening, my lady?"

Lorelai stiffened immediately, glaring into the fire's light and refusing to look up at the man who'd approached. She knew his voice by heart, this apparent leader of the band. It was _he _who had bade the men to kill Jacob. If it was the last thing she did, she would slide one of her daggers into his heart.

"Still not talking to me, I see," he continued. "I understand your...reticence, but I assure you that we have everyone's best interests at heart."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes and occupied herself by counting the men ranged around the fire: twenty. She recounted them several times a day. It wasn't information she wanted to be lost into the depths of her mind where the drug shoved everything it could. Less than that had attacked her in the clearing, of course. She didn't know how many men had died that day, but it was surely several. No wonder they'd overpowered her...but that was no balm to pride like hers.

"I apologize for all the traveling, my lady. Unfortunately, it is necessary for the grand design that we spent quite a bit of time roaming the country before we settle down." He chuckled then. "Can't expect your husband to acquiesce to our request unless he's properly worried about you."

She turned her head, slowly, until her fierce gaze was burning a hole in the man standing over her. The central fire made him a silhouette, but his long hair moved in the fire-born breeze. Perhaps there was a shadow of stubble across his face, as well.

All this she took in subconsciously. Mental facts for later, pieces of an unknown puzzle.

"What...do you want?" she managed, struggling with the words in a completely alien way. The drug tried to twist her speech. It made talking in complex sentences difficult, but that seemed to be all it could do to a silver-tongued daughter of Highever.

"Oh, my lady, we ask for simple things, but everything will be made easier the more...pliant your husband is." He laughed again, as if this were some great joke. "Nothing makes a man more pliant than fear for his wife."

"He will...run you through," Lorelai snarled through gritted teeth, "as I...watch."

Smug arrogance rained down on her. "We shall see. Let me know if you have need of anything, my lady." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her alone.

Clenching her fists again, she tried to breathe evenly, calmly. It wasn't working. Anger wracked her impotent body, even as she swallowed the scream of frustration that tried to boil up. Her instincts demanded that she gut those trying to harm Alistair, even though it was only psychologically, emotionally. It didn't matter. Hurt was hurt. And hurt he would be.

She felt it coming. The scream wasn't going to be contained. She was going to cause a scene, and they would make a fuss over their prize.

Let them. It would give her vicious satisfaction to watch them flutter around her like a flock of nervous birds.

Instead of screaming, however, she vomited onto the grass next to her.

She dragged the back of a shaking hand across her mouth, then had to clamp it closed over the strained laughter that tried to escape. Perhaps she was being overly hopeful...but perhaps _all_ was not lost. Who said morning sickness had to happen in the morning?

They mustn't know. Not ever.

Tomorrow, she'd ask the despicable leader for looser clothes, large dresses. Her armor wasn't doing her any more good, anyway. They certainly weren't going to kill her. Not until they had what they wanted.

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Damn them and their damn horses.

Nathaniel threw his pack down in disgust and leaned against a nearby tree in exhaustion. The pace he was setting was brutal, and he worried about the mabari's condition as Jacob panted and wheezed, but he had no choice.

It was taking its toll as the days bled into weeks.

Catching up was impossible; he had been forced to admit that to himself one the second or third night. He wished he could tell Sigrun; she'd be happy to know she didn't have to worry about him trying to be a hero. Nathaniel supposed it was better, in the end. It kept him from getting himself or the Commander killed.

However, he must not lose the trail.

If he got a horse to speed up his pursuit, the element of surprise would be ruined. So he had to stay on foot. With those bastards galloping farther and farther away every minute, he had to strain his body to the brink to keep the trail from going cold. Just a few hours of sleep, meals eaten on the run.

He tried to stop for Jacob, to let the dog rest. Jacob had refused, tugging on Nathaniel's shirt when he'd sat down, urging him up as if to say, "Break? I don't need a break."

And now, swimming in pale moonlight, it was time for another brief stop. He didn't bother to eat, he could do that on the move. Ill-temperedly punching his pack into a shape more resembling a pillow as Jacob curled up next to him, Nathaniel Howe closed his eyes and was immediately asleep.


	7. Teamwork

**My apologies for the delay in posting. At the moment, I feel like I'm writing half a dozen different stories with all the changing perspectives, and it takes me a little bit to get in the groove of each chapter. Thanks to all who have favorited, alerted, and reviewed!**

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Zevran rolled over in a liquid motion, deliberately pulling the sheet with him. The action earned him the dismayed squeak he was looking for. In a flash of milk-white skin coated with moonlight, his companion spun out of the bed and scurried behind her dressing screens. The elf propped his head up with his hand and sighed. It was just the view he'd desired, everything...bouncing in all the right places.

"So, will you be staying this evening?" she asked from behind the screen.

"I fear I must disappoint you," he said, sighing dramatically. "I have an appointment."

Coming back into view, tying the belt of her shimmering robe as she did, she stuck her lip out. "What's so important that you'd leave me cold and all alone?"

"I should think your husband capable of keeping you warm," Zevran responded glibly, arching an eyebrow.

Her face darkened as anger tightened her lips. "Must you bring _him_ up?"

"I did not marry him. Perhaps if you didn't want him brought up, you should have avoided that little ceremony."

"Oh, you scoundrel!" she hissed. Snatching up his clothes, she tossed them in his face. "Be gone then, if you insist on being that way."

Chuckling, Zevran obediently threw back the sheet and started pulling his pants on. He did so slowly though, carefully. Turning his back, he allowed himself a grin. The elf didn't need to see her to know that she was watching him. By the time he finally faced her, her lower lip was caught between her teeth.

"Are you _sure _there's an appointment?" she whispered, eyes trailing over his naked chest.

"Yes," he answered. He walked around the bed and took her chin in his fingers. Kissing her soundly, he trailed a lazy hand up her side. "I'll leave you with that...warm thought."

"Oh, you!" She playfully slapped his shoulder as he bent to get his shirt and his blades. "Do be careful," she advised as he swung a leg out the window.

"Ah, sweet lady, I know no other way to be." He slid out onto the balcony easily, then down to the alley. He pulled his shirt over his head swiftly, then strapped his knives across his back. Their weight was comforting. Raking a hand through his silver hair, he raised his eyes to check the position of the moon. Almost. He set off the down the street. Couldn't be late, after all. It would be rude.

As he walked, he took a deep breath. Though it lacked the...scent of home, Val Royeaux still held a special place in his heart. How could one not love it? She sang, did Val Royeaux, and Zevran loved her voice. And when she laughed, he wanted to laugh with her.

He arrived at the café shortly, and contented himself to disappear into the shadows across the street. It gave him a perfect view of the back street beside the establishment, and the added bonus of a view inside.

It didn't take long for him to find the man he was looking for. The company the man was keeping was...striking to say the least.

Shame he was out here. He couldn't hear her performance. Zevran always found himself spellbound by her. She was flawless. Not a single line rang false; not a hint of laughter, not an "accidental" caress. Truly, she was without peer.

He grinned. Such a different dance than the one his feet moved to. Equally beautiful, but oh so different.

There. She was getting up, pulling the man to his feet. She artfully stumbled, as if she'd had too much to drink. He steadied her, and she giggled in what he imagined would be a fantastic combination of feigned shyness and naivety. The man smiled indulgently down at her.

Taking his hand, she lead the man to the front door. As it swung open, her shining laughter filled the night. Spinning on her heel, she danced from side to side playfully. The man allowed himself to be spun around...and gradually moved closer to the café's back alley.

Zevran watched as they disappeared into the darkness. He breathed deeply once, twice, three times. He moved through the shadows, following the darkness as it filled every nook and cranny. As the deepest shadows pooled into the alley she had pulled the man into, so did Zevran ooze in.

The sounds of passionate kissing reached his ears, and he had to bit his lip to avoid laughter. He supposed there were worse things to be doing when your end came. As he approached, his feet were soundless against the stone street.

His eyes adjusted, and he could finally see their shapes. She was pressed against the wall, her voluminous skirts being hiked up. Like she'd heard a silent cue, she pushed forward in mock passion. A rough turn left the man with his back to the opening of the alley, to Zevran.

He never noticed a thing.

Smiling, wondering how he'd even done this job without her, the elf slid one of his blades out of its sheath. Schooling his face into sterner lines, crossed the distance in two swift steps.

At the same moment, she broke the kiss and turned the man with a sharp push on the shoulder. Startled, he stumbled.

He fell right into Zevran's arms, onto the blade.

The man gasped, and Zevran let his victim's weight press the knife in all the way to its hilt. He brought the man down to the ground gently before pulling his weapon out. "You angered the wrong people, my friend," he whispered into the dying man's ear.

With a final gasp the man slumped, boneless, and his blood pooled into the spaces between the stones.

Zevran stood, and winked at the woman before him. "So, Leliana, pleasant evening?"

"Ugh!" she spat, rubbing the back of her hand across her mouth. "He kissed like a fish!"

Zevran burst out laughing. "I'll not inquire as to how you know the way fish kiss, my dear."

"Good. A girl has to have some mystery, doesn't she?" Reaching up, the Orlesian began pulling out the myriad of pins holding her hair back in its intricate style. Her red tresses eventually fell loose, and she scratched her scalp enthusiastically. "Ahhhh, that feels good. It's been itching all night."

"I won't pretend to know that ecstasy. My braids never bother me."

"You're truly missing out, my friend." Leliana gestured with her head toward the corpse. "Don't forget, we're to make it look like a robbery gone wrong."

"Wouldn't want to disappoint out employer."

"Not if we want the purse he promised, we don't."

"Indeed." Zevran bent low to rifle through the man's pocket. Emptying them quickly (there wasn't much there), he straightened again. "Finished."

Leliana sighed, and put her hands on her hips. "Maker only knows how you survived without me." Leaning over, she plucked a ring from the man's finger. "We certainly won't get paid if we don't have the proof stipulated by the contract, hmm?"

Zevran fell to his knees before her, hands folded over his heart. "My darling crimson-haired flower! Whatever would I do without you?"

"I suspect you'd make a whole lot less money, for starters," she giggled.

Her amusement delighted him, as it always did, and served to spur him further. Reaching out, her grabbed her hand and showered it with kisses. "I'd be dead in a gutter, surely."

"That, too," she agreed. "Come now, on your feet."

The elf obediently rose, then gestured for her to wait. Slinking toward the mouth of the alley, he glanced around to be sure there was no one to mark their exits.

Muffled _thumps_ came from behind him. He whirled swiftly, badly startled, knives in both hands with no recollection of pulling them from their cases.

Between he and Leliana were two hulking, feathered-

"Zevran," she whispered, and even in the darkness he could see the color had drained from her face. "They're... They're...Lorelai's"

The elf swore luridly, and returned his blades to their sheaths. Damnable creatures. They should be thanking the Maker for the bard's quick words. He'd been about to separate their wrinkled heads from their feathered shoulders.

He started toward them, closing the distance despite their fierce glares. Perhaps that son of Maric had finally gotten his Queen pregnant. Zevran snorted to himself. It was about damned time. One would think the man didn't like this wife very much, it having taken this long-

His feet ground to a stop, and a shiver raced down his spine.

How he knew, he couldn't be sure. But he was suddenly certain the birds bore no such happy tidings. The messages on their legs, the whiteness of the paper standing out starkly against the night, were bad. Bad enough to turn Val Royeaux's throaty, urban laughter to a grating cackle. Bad enough to turn the pale moonlight icy against his skin.

"You feel it, too," Leliana said, swallowing hard.

"Yes," he replied.

"Quick, the notes!" she commanded as she rushed forward.

Zevran didn't need to be told twice. He snatched at the bird closest to him, but it hissed angrily and darted away. Normally, his control on his emotions was iron-clad, but at that moment, he felt a burst of anger so violent he wanted to wrap his hands around the vulture's neck. "Maker help you, you carrion-eating, filthy-"

"Zev, you've got the wrong one," Leliana said patiently, keeping her head more than Zevran was. "See, remember the colors?" One pale finger pointed to the creature's banded leg. It was shining a brighter red than the rapidly cooling blood of their target.

The red-banded vulture hopped toward Leliana, shooting a disgusted look over its shoulder at Zevran. The one with the green band came towards him, if possible looking at him with _more_ disgust than the other.

As he reached for the message on its outstretched leg, he was surprised to see his hand shaking. Or maybe he wasn't surprised, at all.

The paper felt stiff between his fingers as he unrolled it. The letters were sharp and jagged, ink had bled and blotted in strange spots. In several places, the quill had almost torn a hole straight through. He hadn't even read it yet, and the feeling of unease had increased threefold.

_**Zevran. Lorelai needs you. **_**I**_** need you. Please come.**_

Alistair had never particularly warmed to him. Perhaps it had to do with the whole ambush in the forest thing. Strange, really, considering Lorelai had gotten over it. Eventually, she'd even found it funny. He remembered nights by the camp fire, when she would imitate his arch words from that day, and blatantly laugh at his failed attempt to kill them. All the while, Alistair would glower and clean his armor.

Zevran smiled at the memory, but the metallic bite of fear in his mouth made it fade quickly.

For the Warden King to send a message like _this_, to _him_ of all people...things were dire, indeed.

As he read the words a second time, he heard Leliana gasp. As he read the words a third time, in his peripheral vision he saw the bard's hand come up slowly, as if in a dream, to cover her mouth in horror.

He knew not the words on her page, but they'd struck the same fear into her heart as his words had in his.

"When do we leave?" he whispered.

"Now. We'll go to the dock," she answered without hesitation. "Catch the first ship."

"Nothing will leave tonight," he tried to reason.

"I don't care!" she snapped. "I'll raid the brothels and throw the first captain I find out on his drunken ass if I have to!"

"We'll go home first, grab the things we need," the elf responded, ignoring for the moment her version of a "plan". Just moments ago, it had Leliana in control. Now their positions had reversed. They'd always been that way: the more frayed one became, the more soothing the other became in turn. One of the reasons they were such a good team. "The purse?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Maker damn the purse!"

"Just checking."

"Plan to leave a note for your..lady?" she asked, a strained giggle pushing its way passed her lips.

"Plan to leave a note for your beau?" he countered.

"He's _not _my beau."

"She's not my lady." He shrugged. "They don't need any notes. They'll live."

"Yes." Leliana was staring fixedly at her vulture. "Some paper." She gestured at him impatiently when he didn't respond immediately. "We have to let him know we're coming. He must be nearly out of his mind-"

As the assassin handed her the paper, he had a moment of burning curiosity. What had her message said? Did she know exactly what was going on, or had it been just as cryptic as his? The breath to ask was on his tongue before he swallowed it back. His brought him pain enough. Maker only knew what that former Chantry orphan would reveal to a former Chantry sister.

"Take this back to Denerim," she was saying to the birds. "Go together. Tell him we're coming."

The birds obediently clawed their way into the night air, vanishing over the edge of the nearest building in a matter of moments.

"To the apartment?" he asked, holding his arm out for her courteously.

Despite her agitation, she took it with a wan smile. "Then to Denerim, to help our friends."


	8. What To Say

**Thanks for all the favorites, alerts, and especially reviews :) And here's a thanks to my roommate/beta, who puts up with me pointing imperiously at the computer screen, without warning, and saying, "Read it now!"**

* * *

"Warden."

Sigrun turned swiftly, and almost let out out an audible groan as she saw the woman making her way down the corridor. The former legionnaire was feeling particularly strained today, and there was nothing she wanted to do _less _than deal with the oncoming human. "Mistress DeWitt," she answered anyway, bowing her head politely.

The severe woman finally reached her, and her steely gaze grew fiercer, if possible. "Might I have a word with you?"

"Of course," Sigrun replied, pasting a serene smile on her face. The Commander had taught her many things, but the thing Sigrun valued most was the ability to hide her emotions. She'd come to the Wardens with every feelings scrawled across her face as if in writing. Now, she had a cool countenance to rival the Commander's...when necessary.

"I don't suppose you could _do_ something about your fellow dwarf?" Mistress DeWitt asked coldly.

"What has he done now?" Sigrun demanded, feeling her blood pressure spike. Like things weren't difficult enough right now. If that bronto-loving, spider-stroker could be more useless, she would be impressed. He had known the King before joining the Wardens, and yet he seemed completely unable, and unwilling, to exact any control over the man. Instead, Oghren ran rough-shod through the palace, drinking the wine cellars dry and getting slapped by the maids.

"Well, currently, he's drunkenly barricaded himself in one of the pantries." Mistress DeWitt's lip curled up in a sneer. "He claims he's protecting himself from a siege of winged rats."

"Winged rats," Sigrun repeated, blinking.

"Indeed."

Sighing deeply, the dwarf rubbed her face. "I'll go take care of it. My apologies, for his behavior." Sigrun turned to leave.

"Warden."

She turned back, wary now. What _else_ could the woman want? "Yes?"

The human's eyes narrowed. "Any chance you might tell me what's going on?"

Sigrun froze, and met the woman glare for glare. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Mistress DeWitt."

"You know exactly what I mean," she snapped sternly. "You, that drunken barbarian, and that _mage_ appear out of nowhere, along with those Silver Order girls. No explanation, no reason, just 'Warden business'." Her air quotations were biting, mocking. "You never come here without Queen Lorelai, but all you say is that she's on 'Warden business', too! And the King-" She stopped then, clenching her hands into swift fists. "What is going on here?"

"It is Warden business, ma'am," Sigrun answered tonelessly, refusing to rise to the bait of all her thinly-veiled insults. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it with anyone outside of the Grey."

"Andraste take your secrecy!" she hissed. "I'll know what wrong in my household, and something is _very _wrong!"

"If you feel you must know whatever it is you think is going on, I suggest you ask the King. Perhaps he can enlighten you."

"I cannot bear to look in his eyes! He's...gone completely hollow, like there's no one inside him!"

Sigrun winced. She knew the truth of the older woman's words all too well. Ever since he'd sent the vultures, the King had...gone away. Oh, he was around, and day-to-day palace business continued as normal. He talked with the nobles, heard the concerns of the people, signed important documents. But his eyes were like the stone of the Deep Roads, and sometimes his movements seemed jerky, like he was a puppet on strings. The dwarf was fairly sure he wasn't sleeping all that much, and she was definitely sure he was eating even less than he was sleeping.

"He is my King!" Mistress DeWitt shrieked into the quiet. "I want to know what's wrong!"

"Funny. From what I'd heard, you weren't exactly thrilled at his coronation!" Sigrun snapped, and immediately realized that perhaps she could still use some more lessons in diplomacy.

Mistress DeWitt's face had gone white, save for two patches of bright red high on her cheeks.

"I...apologize," Sigrun said into the awkward silence. "I have overstepped my bounds. I should go...take care of Oghren, before he ruins your pantry." The Warden started walking away quickly. By the stone, if the Commander found out she'd said something like that-

Sigrun almost stumbled over nothing. She would tell the Commander what she'd done herself, and take any punishment her superior officer chose to dish out, if it meant that she were home and safe.

"Warden!"

Now Sigrun did stumble. Slowly, bracing for the storm, she turned to face Mistress DeWitt. The woman hadn't moved, making her almost out of hearing distance, but the dwarf heard her nonetheless.

"I may have made some...rash judgments in the past. It is my fierce sense of loyalty, which the King and Queen so prize, that caused me to make those judgments. I listened, however, and changed my mind. Now, they are more precious to me than-" She wrung her hands, twisting her fingers into so many knots. "Please, whatever is going on...take care of them."

Sigrun felt tears sting her eyes. If Nathaniel were here, he would know what to say, how to fix this. If Nathaniel were here, no one would be looking at her to be in charge. She wasn't sure when that had happened, either. The Commander was taken, Nathaniel had been leader for about five minutes, then he'd left...and suddenly everyone had started looking at _her_.

She'd understood when it had been just her, Oghren, and the King. Oghren was obviously _not_ someone anybody should be looking at to lead, and the King was distraught. Sigrun had assumed that she would just have to keep Oghren on a short leash and guide the King whenever he asked for her help until Anders got here with the Twins, and then he would take over.

When the mage had arrived with the members of the Silver Order, however, _he'd_ deferred to her, too. The Twins had followed suit, showing her as much obedience as they showed _their_ superiors. She wasn't sure what Anders had told them, but the women seemed to know the gravity of the situation. Their...antics were being kept to a minimum. For that, Sigrun was thankful. At their worst, the Twins were as bad as Oghren.

If only Nathaniel were here...

"I promise you, Mistress DeWitt," she finally answered, "I will do everything in my power to keep them from harm."

Apparently, Sigrun _had_ managed to find the right thing to say, for Mistress DeWitt's shoulders sagged, and she nodded gratefully.

Nodding back, Sigrun headed in the direction of the kitchens. As she turned a corner, she almost collided with Aideen.

"Ah, Maker's blood!" exclaimed the elf. "Sorry, Sigrun."

"My fault," the dwarf said, shaking her head. "I'm on my way to the kitchens, Oghren's making an ass of himself. Care to join me?"

Aideen grinned fiercely. "I wouldn't miss it. What's he done now?"

"Apparently there's a siege of winged rats, and he's safest in one of the pantries."

She tapped her chin. "Yes, well. Can't be too careful with those...winged rats."

"Right." Sigrun rolled her eyes, and gestured. Aideen obediently followed as they made their way to the kitchens. The dwarf snuck a glance up at the other woman. She and her "twin" were as different as night and day. Aideen's tanned skin and midnight, corkscrew curls were a strange foil to Aednat's milky, freckled complexion and bone-straight blonde hair. As if to draw even more attention to the differences, Aideen always left her short curls bouncing free, whereas Aednat tied her long tresses up in an intricate series of braids.

The only thing similar about them was their background. City elves from Amaranthine, they'd left the alienage to pledge themselves to the Silver Order at Vigil's Keep. The Commander's defense of the city, instead of Vigil's Keep, had inspired in them such admiration that they'd follow her to the Anderfels and back.

It was part of the reason Sigrun had suggested them, aside from their battle prowess. Aednat and Aideen would die for the Commander...and those were the kind of people they needed right now.

"Where is Aednat?" Sigrun asked as they walked. She was shocked it had taken her so long to noticed that the other "twin" was missing.

"She's up on the roof, watching. She feels bad for the serving boy who's stuck up there, with not a clue what he's waiting for."

"Ah, then...you _do_ know what we're waiting for?"

Aideen gave her a sad look. "The King told Aednat one night, after he and Ogrhen had been busy emptying a barrel of ale."

Sigrun swore colorfully. Now Oghren was getting the King drunk, too? Well, she was definitely impressed. Oghren _had _found a way to be even more useless than she'd thought possible. "I swear by the stone that spat him out, I'm going to lock that piece of nug droppings in the dungeon!"

"Oh, can I watch?" Aideen blinked innocently. "That would be marvelous."

"You're going to see it, trust me," Sigrun growled, throwing open the kitchen door. A knot of kitchen girls were gathered in front of the pantry door. At first, the dwarf was baffled; _no one_ was that interested in Oghren's well-being.

"Come on, old boy, this is getting ridiculous."

Ah, that's why the girls were clustered around.

"Ladies," Sigrun said sternly. A dozen faces turned sharply, cheeks glowing scarlet. "If you wouldn't mind..."

"Out!" Aideen barked, short curls springing as she pointed vehemently out the door. The girls scurried away hastily, giving the dwarf and the elf a wide berth. Their departure revealed Anders crouched by the door.

"Well, it's about time you showed up," he teased Sigrun as he stood up.

"Perhaps you would've had it handled already if you weren't so bogged down by your admirers," she shot back, although she smiled when she said it. Who could be mad at Anders? If there were people who could be, Sigrun was not among them.

"Well, now that I have the assistance of such beautiful ladies," he said, bowing gracefully, "it should be very easy."

"Shameless," Aideen said, winking. "Don't think you'll get into my bed chamber that easily, mage."

"Who said I wanted in your bed chamber?" Anders said, aghast. "I'd like to keep all my...equipment intact, if you please."

"Aw, is the witch-boy afraid of a little rough play?"

"That'll be all, thank you," Sigrun said, shaking her head and pushing passed Anders to reach the pantry door. "Oghren, it's time for you to _stop_ being an idiot!" she called through the thick wood. "I know it will be a challenge, but-"

"Not comin' out!" he slurred. "Them rats are," a loud _hiccup_, "bidin' their time!"

"Of course they are," Aideen chimed. "Tricksy things. You'd better stay put."

"Aideen!" Sigrun scolded. "Not helping!"

"I could set fire to the door, that might work," Anders suggested, wiggling his fingers.

"Also _not _helping!" Sigrun said, trying to keep the smile from her face, and failing. "And I don't think the King would appreciate having to replace the door." Turning back to face the door, she called, "Oghren, how am I supposed to beat you within an inch of your life if you don't come out?"

"Huh? W'did I do?"

"We'll talk about that when you come out."

"What did he do?" Anders whispered to Aideen.

"Sigrun's mad he was getting the King drunk," the elf explained.

"As much as I hate to agree with Oghren, it might not be the worst thing the King could be doing right now."

"Anders," Sigrun growled. "That's _not_ the point."

"The point is..." her fellow Warden waved at her to finish the sentence.

"The point is Oghren should be helping! He knew the King during the Blight, he should be helping him! He should know what to say!" Sigrun shouted.

"Don't know what to say," the red-haired dwarf mumbled morosely from the other side of the door.

"None of us know what to say, darling," Anders said quietly.

"But _he_ should!" she countered, pointing emphatically at the door as her voice increased in volume even more. She'd never felt so stone-damned helpless in her whole life. Not even when she'd been forced to run from the massacre of her Legion. "The King is making himself sick! If _someone_ doesn't do something about it soon, he's not going to be able to help us save the Commander! He's going to be too weak and half-mad from lack of sleep to be any help, at all!

"And Oghren knows him the best, but he's too sodding self-indulgent to try to do anything!"

Sigrun's breath heaved in huge, heavy gasps. She saw the looks Aideen and Anders were giving her, and she felt shame burning in her chest. She shouldn't have lost it like that. Not when everyone was, inexplicably, looking at her to lead.

If Nathaniel were here, he'd know what to say.

"Aideen!" All three turned to see Aednat burst into the kitchen. "Oh, you're all here," the blonde elf said. "Good."

"What is it?" Aideen asked. "I know that look."

"Two of the vultures came back. Just arrived a few minutes ago."

"And?" Sigrun got hurriedly to her feet. "Did they have replies? Is anyone coming?"

"Leliana and Zevran," Aednat answered, holding out the paper. When Aideen raised an eyebrow, Aednat snorted. "Oh, like you wouldn't have read it."

Sigrun took the paper and held it tightly, as if it meant to slip away. She didn't feel the need to read it; she trusted Aednat.

Leliana and Zevran. The bard and the assassin. The Orlesian and the Antivan. Companions of the only two Fereldan Grey Wardens during the Fifth Blight.

Finally. Perhaps one of _them_ would know what to do with the King.

The pantry door creaked open, and Oghren stuck his face out. He hiccuped, and tried to focus his eyes. "Take that to 'im. It'll make 'im feel better."

Anders grabbed the dwarf by the nape of his neck. "Let's go have a cold bath, old boy."

"Not if _you_'_re_ watchin' me, you pervert."

Aideen and Aednat burst into laughter. "We'll take you, Oghren. Come on," Aideen said. She and her "twin" led the dwarf away. Just before they left the kitchen, he pinched Aednat on her rear. She clouted him across the back of the head, nearly knocking him down. The elves laughed uproariously again as they disappeared around the corner.

"They're...odd ladies," Anders mused.

"I like them more every day," Sigrun said, relaxing her grip on the paper a bit. "Come with me?" she asked.

"Of course, dear lady." Anders reached down and gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze, and he tried for a comforting smile.

Sigrun tried to smile back, but it was a weak attempt.

If only Nathaniel were here...


	9. Chivalry

The fog lifted from her mind, like it always did, and Lorelai found herself in darkness. She couldn't remember making camp for the night, or any of their travel for the day. The last thing she could recall was the morning meal. Trees loomed overhead, reaching their boughs to the star-speckled sky. The forest they were in was nondescript, common. They could be anywhere; right outside of Denerim...or nearing the Frostback Mountains.

Tears stung her eyes, and Lorelai bit her lip to stop its trembling as the disorientation threatened to overwhelm her. She took a deep, shaking breath and blew it out slowly. It calmed her a bit, and the tears retreated.

A soft nicker caught her attention, and she turned her head to the horses tied up nearby. To look at them, and see only what was to be seen with her eyes, almost brought the tears back with a vengeance. It made her feel empty without the touch of their hearts, and it compounded the sense of being lost in her own lands by a hundredfold.

She wrapped her arms around her chest tightly, trying to hold in the pain from so many hurts, and she winced. Her breasts throbbed with the pressure she'd subjected them to. The pain seemed to spread throughout her whole body, reminding her how much she physically ached. It seemed Andraste granted small blessings; if these bastards were making her walk instead of ride, she would've been in serious trouble. As it was, the fatigue she felt was easily hidden. There wasn't much they made her do to exert herself.

Her hand slid down to the bulge in her belly, and she allowed herself a rueful smile. As she had known from the beginning, time had told whether her dream of Morrigan had been true or just wishful thinking. Whatever miracle the witch and her god-child had worked, whatever other blessings Andraste had seen fit to bestow...it could not be denied now that Lorelai was pregnant.

The loose fitting clothes and dresses she had asked for what seemed like a lifetime ago were doing their job adequately. Her condition remained hidden. As long as she behaved herself, remained as upright in the saddle as she possibly could, there was no reason for any of the men to touch her stomach. Even if they did, she supposed she could explain it away. After all, her belly wasn't all that big.

She fretted about when it would become too big to explain away. But it didn't help to think about that now. One day at a time.

Lorelai turned and rubbed her cheek against the dirt that was her pillow. Sometimes, as she drifted off into troubled sleep, she could break through the clouds in her mind to bring up images of Alistair. On the occasions it could be done, it brought a rush of comfort that felt almost too good to be allowed.

She had trained her Wardens well. They had most certainly discovered that she'd been missing. They would've taken steps to find her. One of those steps definitely would've been to inform Alistair. She knew he would find her. Though she was at loathe to admit it, her current circumstances left her very nearly helpless. Bettering her situation on her own was not an option. Adding the life growing inside her to the mix just made it even more impossible.

Lorelai, Queen of Ferelden and Warden-Commander, gritted her teeth. Damsel in distress was never a role she thought she'd be cast in. Andraste, how it mad her wild with anger.

Taking another deep breath, she pushed the rage down. She'd never get an image of Alistair if she was all worked up. Blocking out her trembling limbs and the keening loss of the sense of all the animals around her made it difficult enough. Anger would not help the proceedings.

_Alistair closed the door, having finally ushered out the last of their thrilled companions. The echoes of congratulations still rang in Lorelai's ears as he turned to face her. Leaning back against the door wearily, his amber eyes stared at her. They were alone, for the first time in...ever. Truly, totally, utterly alone._

_ "Are you all right, dear heart?" she asked, straining for as much normalcy as possible. After all, what was going on that wasn't normal? He'd only just executed Loghain, and she'd only just placed him, and herself, on the throne of Ferelden. Oh yes, and locked the pair of them in marriage in front of the entire Landsmeet. Nothing out of the ordinary, at all._

_ "Let's start with a less complicated question," he answered, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to _thwack_ against the door._

_ Her heart began to boom louder than normal, filling her face with enough blood to make her feel like it was on fire. "I know I kind of...surprised you with all of that. I apologize."_

_ Opening his eyes, he stared at her like she'd grown two more heads. "'Kind of'?" he echoed._

_ Despite her anxiety, his tone made her laugh. "OK, more like totally."_

_ "More appropriate descriptor. Thank you," he said, the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips. It faded too quickly. "I don't know that I can do this."_

_ "Which part?" Lorelai tried to keep the edge from her voice, but it was challenging. Panic will do that to a girl. "The 'marry me' part, or the King part?"_

_ "Are you...being thick on purpose?" he demanded, eyes narrowed. _

_ "Excuse me?" Her voice had risen a few octaves at the semi-insult. _

_ "Because," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "for you to think I'm concerned about the 'marry you' part, you're either playing dumb or you've suffered a severe head injury. You know damn well that I love you so much I can't imagine being without you."_

_ Lorelai felt frozen between being irritated at his choice of wording...and succumbing to the warmth that filled her at his last statement. She choose a middle ground, walking towards him resolutely but putting all her love for him in a dazzling smile. "_We_ can do it."_

_ His mouth worked a few times, but no words came out. He reached out and pulled her to him, pressing her against his armored chest. With a gauntleted hand, he tilted her chin up. "You promise not to run off and leave me to figure this out alone?"_

_ She laughed. "Promise."_

_ "Swear?"_

_ "Pinkie swear." Wiggling one of her hands free from his hold, she offered her littlest finger to him. He extended his fingers, and wrapped his pinkie around hers. Her finger looked impossibly small, hooked in his metal-enclosed one. Leaning her head forward, she kissed her thumb, just like she and Fergus used to do when they were children. Alistair mirrored her, his eyes dancing with amusement, pushing away the panic that had been there._

_ "Well, now that it's a pinkie swear, I know you're trapped," he said._

_ "Of course. Only the most dastardly villain breaks a pinkie swear," she agreed solemnly. _

_ "I _do_ wish you have let me propose to you."_

_ "Sorry. There wasn't time."_

_ "I know. I'll just have to do it now, then, won't I?" Releasing her, he pushed her back gently until he had room to get on bended knee at her feet. His armor made quite the racket. He took her hands and whispered, "Lorelai Cousland, would you do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband?"_

_ It was so silly, seeing as she'd already cemented their marriage in front of all the nobles, but she couldn't stop the two girlish tears that rolled down her cheeks. "Yes, Alistair Theirin, I can think of nothing more wonderful than to be your wife."_

_ Getting to his feet in boyish excitement, an excellent partner to her girlish reaction, he took her face in her hands and kissed her soundly._

Ah, what a fantastic memory to manage to break through the fog. The kiss at the end felt so real, so tangible, she could almost fool herself into thinking it was real. A smile curled her lips, and her body shifted against the ground.

Foreign hands slid up her legs in filthy invasion.

Lorelai's eyes snapped open, but she could see nothing in the darkness. She sensed the figure next to her, even though she couldn't see its shape. The hands continued their unwelcome journey, passing over her knees and up her thighs now.

She inhaled, a powerful scream ready at the back of her throat. One of the intruding hands pressed itself against her mouth strongly, driving her head back into the dirt. Struggling weakly, she tried to twist her head free, but her drug-hampered limbs would not obey.

The other hand fumbled at her hobble, untying the knots after a few moments. Once her ankles were free, she was hauled to her feet. One hand still clamped firmly across her lips, the other arm slung her against the figure's hip. She was lifted off her feet and dragged away from the camp.

About thirty feet away, Lorelai was dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. At the last moment, she made sure to twist her body, taking the impact with her hip. A brief shudder ran through her at the thought of taking that fall with her stomach.

She was grabbed roughly on the shoulder, and twisted until she faced the shadow who'd brought her here.

"If you so much as whimper, I'll slit your throat," a man's voice growled softly.

The feeling of violence oozing through the darkness was so powerful, even if she'd wanted to scream, her throat constricted painfully in self-preservation. Apparently, her body wasn't taking any chances on her attempting some heroics.

"I've had my fill of being kept away from such a fine woman as yourself," he continued. She felt his hands begin sliding up her legs again. "We'll keep tonight our little secret, hmm?"

Bile rose up in her throat as her skin shivered with revulsion. Oh, Andraste, please. No, not this. Not this on top of everything else that had been dealt her.

A cynical voice snorted in her mind, and wondered how this hadn't happened already. It was a fairly logical part of being kidnapped, wasn't it?

No. She couldn't bear this man's alien, disgusting caresses. She'd die before she'd let him take her-

She would do no such thing, for it wasn't just herself she was living for anymore.

Tears fell from her eyes as she squeezed them shut. Laying back against the dirt, she pressed her lips together tightly at the vile feel of his lips on the inside of her thigh. Lorelai desperately tried to hold onto her earlier memory of Alistair, tried to _be_ somewhere else.

Without warning, the man was yanked off her and thrown to the side.

"How dare you?" growled another voice, standing over her. "To a woman such as she?" She knew this voice well: it was the leader, Jacob's murderer.

Her attacker spat, and muttered darkly, "This plan is stupid. We're risking capture-"

"It's a bit late for you to voice your disagreement with the plan, isn't it? Not that that has anything to do with the atrocity you were about to commit!" interrupted the leader.

"We can do what we like with her. She's _ours_! No one has even come for her yet. It's ridiculous to cling to your morals at a time like this!"

There was a rustle of movement, the quiet _snick_ of steel sliding into the open...and the muted _squelch_ of that steel burrowing through flesh. A blood-filled cough rent the air. "Morals are what keep us men in times like this, and separate us from the barbarians," the leader snarled.

His voice had moved to where her attacker's voice had been coming from. It took Lorelai's mind several seconds to put all the pieces together. The leader had killed one of his own men. In defense of her honor, no less.

She cautioned herself not to be hasty. It was far more likely he'd killed the man for disobedience or for questioning his ethics. Still, instinct seemed firmly convinced it had been for her.

Her attacker's body fell to the ground solidly. Before she could even take another breath, the leader was by her side. "Are you all right, my lady?" he asked.

For a moment, she couldn't speak. "Yes," she finally said.

"Forgive me. If I'd have thought even for an instant that any of my men harbored such base intentions, they would not be with me. That is not the kind of man I am," he whispered fervently.

"Of...course not," Lorelai agreed, confused at the passion in his voice.

"Are you certain he didn't injure you?"

"Yes. He just...threw me about...a bit," she assured him.

In the darkness, he took her hand. "Let me lead you back to camp." He pulled her gently to her feet. His arm circled her shoulders protectively as they walked. "Rest assured, my lady, tomorrow I will make an example of him to the rest. In case anyone else has such foul ideas."

She didn't answer him, and instead concentrated on not stumbling. What was she supposed to say, anyway? This man's solicitous concern was mind-boggling, to say the least. He had kidnapped her, kept her drugged nearly senseless, had told her he intended to demand something from Alistair for her safe return...and now he'd killed one of his band for trying to rape her.

They reached camp, and she turned to look up at him. He towered over her, taller than Alistair. A little moonlight would've gone a long way to allowing her to see his face, but there was no moon tonight. She was sure she'd seen his face in the daylight, but her lucid periods never allowed her to hold onto that piece of information.

"If it would not offend you, my lady Cousland, perhaps you should sleep near me from now on. I can ensure your safety this way."

She seized upon the anger that flashed through her, allowing it to draw her up a bit taller. "That is _not..._my last name."

He sighed, as if dealing with an annoying child. "But it should be, my lady." With that, he plunked her down firmly next to his bedroll. Taking advantage of her disoriented and uncoordinated limbs, he crossed the camp to get her hobble. He tied her ankles to it expertly, then settled down nearby. "Goodnight."

Despite his rescue and his seemingly sincere concern, Lorelai simply glared at where his voice had come from. Laying down grudgingly, she felt her mind clicking as fast as the drug would allow it to. A clue such as what the leader had said was apparently too interesting for the fog in her brain to combat. _But it should be, my lady._

What in Andraste's name did _that_ mean?

* * *

Evil, foul, winged, disgusting-

"Shale, don't!" Wynne's voice, clear like diamond. "Don't hurt them."

Vile, taloned, despicable, wretched-

"Come now, step back." Wynne again, now her voice taking on other diamond qualities, as it became unyielding. Hard. "They're on the ground, see? They can't...make a mess from down there."

Oh, but they would. They bobbed their naked, ruby heads. Shuffled on onyx talons. Glared with dead eyes that matched their claws. They were too close. Mockingly close. _Tortuously_ close. One quick stomp (well, two stomps) and their eyes would stop glaring.

"Shale, stop. They are Lorelai's."

Lorelai. She who, with her smoked topaz hair and pearl flesh, had brought freedom. She who had stood by Cairdin's side in the Deep Roads. She who had gone to Cadash Thaig, and had assisted in banishing the cloud that had enveloped the past, the memories.

"Here, let me get the messages." Wynne scurried forward without hesitation, folding her squishy mortal body nearly in half. "Oh, dear," she said quietly as she read the paper. "We're needed, back in Ferelden."

"I had thought to continue searching."

"We will, but first we have to help out friends," Wynne insisted, eyes sharp as chips of flint. "I know it's been a long journey, but it will have to be put on hold. This is what friends do for each other."

"Indeed?"

"That disdainful tone is not helping, Shale," Wynne said, narrowing her flint-chip eyes. "When we find the answer, the way to give you a mortal form, I'm sure it will help if you're already accustomed to behaving as we mortals do. Mortals help their friends...especially when they've agreed to do so on rooftops of castles."

"Its humor is most unamusing."

"And I thought we were done with all that 'it' business, too." Wynne shook her head and _tsk_ed. "We'll write back, tell them not to wait for us. You'll have to go on alone, I'll only slow you down. With my pesky human needs for sleeping and eating."

"I'm to traipse back through this land of humans alone?"

One of Wynne's eyebrows twitched. "You, mighty Shale of Cadash Thaig, wouldn't be concerned about traveling alone...would you?"

"Of course not, but I am unfamiliar with these lands. I have followed you here, and now I am expected to make it back to Ferelden. Not to mention that a golem traveling without a human to invent convenient excuses could result in many crushed mortal skulls."

Wynne smiled. "I'm sure you'll find a way to avoid that, dear. You know Lorelai doesn't approve of you crushing skulls."

"No."

"Just go south, Shale. When you come to the Waking Sea, take a ship to Denerim."

"It feels that there is any ship captain willing to take _me_ on board?"

Wynne's smile grew bigger. "Then you'll have to take a page from Lorelai's book and be very persuasive, won't you?" She stared hard, tilting her head to the side. "Unless, of course, you wish to abandon our friends in their time of need."

"Of course not. I'll go at once...Wise One."


	10. Facepalm

"Your Majesty, don't you think it's time you," Sigrun clenched her fists in helplessness, "took a break?"

He lifted his head from his desk, and squinted at her, as if he was having trouble seeing her. "No," he said eventually. "Everything must run as usual. It's what Lorelai would insist on." He lowered his head back down to the myriad of papers spread out in front of him.

Sigrun held back the deep sigh that threatened to pass her lips. He couldn't go on like this, not much longer. His clothes seemed too big for him now, with all the weight he'd lost, and his eyes were sunken hollows in his face. At the risk of sounding absolutely horrible, the man wasn't going to be able to wear his own damn armor at this rate. The weight of it would crush him.

At the news of Leliana and Zevran's impending arrival, the King had appeared a bit better. For a little while, anyway. But as the days turned into weeks, and there was still no sign of the former companions, he had reverted back to this strange, empty man in front of her.

Sigrun had only met the King a few times before this, and she'd usually been too terrified to notice much. She did, however, distinctly remember what a warm and friendly man he was. She'd always tried to use that to convince herself to be more...normal, but it had always failed.

Now, the King had become someone else. Someone Sigrun never would've felt comfortable warming up to. He was not mean or violent, of course not. But he was hollow.

And here she was, saying more to the man than she'd ever said before. Wonders never ceased.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," she said, mustering up all her courage, "I don't think the Commander would insist on your new habits of insomnia and starvation."

His head lifted again, this time sharply.

Sigrun swallowed hard. Perhaps this hadn't been the most appropriate time to develop a spine with the King.

To her utter surprise, he gave a startling burst of laughter. "By the Maker, Sigrun. Did you just make something vaguely resembling a joke?"

The dwarf felt a lop-sided grin slide across her face. "Of course not, Your Majesty."

"Silly me. What an awful thing to suggest," he agreed, frowning in mock-severity.

"Terribly, truly."

He heaved a great sigh, then – by the Stone – pushed himself away from the desk. "Perhaps you have a point, anyway. If I go to the kitchens and get something to eat, will you stop all your glowering?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," she breathed, not daring to believe her eyes as he came around to meet her. Joy threatened to burst out of her chest. She couldn't remember being this happy. Something she had said _worked_. She had _done something_.

The King bowed to her, holding out a hand. He cleared his throat officiously. "Would you kindly be my escort, madam? You know Kings aren't supposed to go about by themselves. If we're by ourselves, how would anyone know how important we are?"

Sigrun giggled, then clapped a shocked hand over her mouth.

"Oh, please laugh," the King protested. "If I'm not funny anymore, I'll have nothing left to live for."

More giggles escaped, and she dropped her hand. Whatever the man wanted, she would give him. He hadn't spoken this much since the day she and Oghren had arrived. If he wanted her to take him through the marketplace and show him how to pick pockets, she'd only pause long enough to grab a cloak. "Off to the kitchens then, Your Majesty?" she asked, waving her arm toward the door in a grandiose gesture.

He nodded, and they started walking. Sigrun couldn't stop grinning; she couldn't wait to tell Anders what she'd accomplished. Caution whispered through her mind, and warned her not to get too ahead of herself. One meal wasn't going to fix all the King had managed to do to himself.

"You must miss Vigil's Keep," the King said suddenly. "I hope it hasn't been too hard, staying in a strange place."

"No, Your Majesty, it's fine," she assured him, a bit taken off-guard by the question. "Vigil's Keep always feels...strange without-" She shut her mouth so fast her teeth clacked.

"Without..." the King prompted.

Now she had to say it. How could she be so stupid? "Without the Commander," she finished quietly, unable to look at him.

There was a sharp intake of air. "I know exactly how you feel," he answered after a few moments.

Sigrun thought as fast as she could, trying frantically to come up with something to say to fix what she'd just done. If he turned around and went back to his office, she'd never forgive herself.

Approaching footsteps filled the awkward silence. Sigrun lifted her head to see Mistress DeWitt coming down the hallway. "Your Majesty, Warden," she said, gathering her skirts and curtsying before the King.

"Mistress DeWitt," the King answered.

"A couple visitors have arrived for you, Your Majesty," she responded, rising. "They are waiting for you in the throne room." She turned to leave.

The King's hand shot out, grabbing the woman's arm. Sigrun's eyes widened considerably. He wasn't hurting her, the dwarf could tell that, but it was a bit...unsettling anyway.

Mistress DeWitt seemed to think so, too. She froze, and turned back to face the King with as much poise as she could muster. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Who are they?" he whispered hoarsely. "The guests. Who are they?"

Sigrun reached up and touched his arm. He looked down at her with a jerk of his neck muscles, as if he had forgotten she was there. "I'm sure she was just about to tell us, Your Majesty," she said, making her voice as normal as possible.

The King looked back at Mistress DeWitt, and then at his hand. He let go quickly, as if her skin had suddenly turned to something he didn't want to be touching. Squeezing his eyes shut, his shoulders hunched forward. "Forgive me, Mistress DeWitt. That was most inappropriate."

"No worries, Your Majesty," she answered, a warm smile on her face. "It was remiss of me not to share their identities with you. It is your former comrades Zevran Arainai and Leliana. We haven't seen them for quite some time." The woman shot an intense glance at Sigrun.

The King's eyes flew open. He looked down at Sigrun, then back at Mistress DeWitt, then took off down the hallway at a run.

Sigrun felt all her nerves tighten. Well, she wasn't going to catch up just standing there. She cursed thoroughly as she took off after the King. Her people weren't exactly built for running. Well, that wasn't entirely correct. They were built for running just fine. What they _weren't_ built for was catching up with humans and their entirely-too-long legs.

When she reached the throne room, and shoved the door open, it appeared she hadn't missed much, however. The King was gripping a red-haired woman in a hug so tight it looked like he was trying to crush her.

"Alistair, darling, it's all right," she was saying, despite the obvious fact that she could barely breathe. She rubbed his back in soothing circles. "We're here now."

"My friend, I do believe you might kill our lovely Leliana if you hold her much longer," drawled the silver-haired elf standing nearby.

The King released his death grip on the woman immediately, embarrassed. Taking several paces back, he ran nervous fingers through his hair. "Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Leliana answered, shooting the elf a quick, yet vehement, glare. "I wish all my welcomes were as sincere and warm as yours." She reached out to lay a cream-colored hand on the King's arm. Her pretty face darkened in a frown, and she gave his face a second look. "You have not been taking care of yourself."

The King blushed furiously like a young boy, and he shot a guilty glance at Sigrun. "Um, no. I suppose I haven't."

Leliana's eye narrowed sternly. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

"Yes, Leliana."

Sigrun was fairly sure her jaw was laying on the floor of the throne room. She ran questioning fingers along her chin. Nope, imagine that, it was still attached to her face like it was supposed to be. For the display she'd just witnessed, the dwarf was prepared to worship the ground Leliana walked on.

"Ah, now you see why I kept her around, yes? She has such a way of ordering you about that feels positively...delicious," the elf said, holding out a hand to the King.

The King let out a rough chuckle, and blushed an even darker shade of red. "I'm not so sure about delicious, but you definitely listen." He took the elf's hand in greeting. "Thank you for coming, Zevran."

Sigrun watched as the elf's eyes widened a bit. What could be surprising about being greeted by his old friend in such a way? She gave a mental shrug; she was not about to attempt to understand the bonds built or broken during the Fifth Blight. There were more important things to do. The former legionnaire started making her way closer to the three.

A near stumble almost caused her to lose her footing as it dawned on her who she was approaching. The Orlesian bard and the Antivan assassin. Fabled companions to the Warden King and Queen. Legends in and of themselves.

Hopefully, she had the Stone-sense not to embarrass herself.

"No need for thanks," Zevran was answering as Sigrun drew near. "It is what friends are for, yes?" He frowned comically. "At least, I _assume_ that's what they're for. I, myself, never really had any friends before I had the opportunity to throw myself at your lovely wife's feet and beg for my life." The elf craned his head around, taking in the throne room. "Where is your lady love, anyway?"

"Yes, dear," Leliana said, the hand on the King's arm tightening a bit. "Where is she, so we may sort out the problem all together like we used to?"

Face crumbling, he spun away from them. He ran shaking fingers through his hair again as he paced to the throne. Once there, he slumped into it, and buried his face in his hands.

Sigrun's chest ached, and she found it hard to breathe. She hadn't realized the King hadn't told them in the messages. She supposed it made sense, in case someone had intercepted the vultures. But it left his friends woefully unprepared for the shock he was about to deliver.

"Alistair..." Leliana took a few steps forward, her tone filled with concern. "What's going on?"

"Lorelai's been taken," he answered, voice muffled by his hands.

Sigrun couldn't help but wince. Hearing it again didn't make it any less painful.

"Taken?" Leliana echoed, freezing in mid-step. "Taken by who?"

"I don't know."

"Where?" Zevran demanded. The friendly, debonair demeanor was gone. Now, Sigrun saw the assassin, the former Crow, as the muscles in his lithe arms twitched.

"Outside of Lothering," the King answered.

Zevran began speaking rapidly in a language Sigrun didn't recognize. Leliana spun and darted back to him, answering in the same language. Taking off the pack she wore, the bard began rummaging through it, still talking. The elf responded. They continued this rapid-fire discussion as she pulled things out of the pack, gathering them in her arms.

"I can understand you, you know," the King called from the throne, lifting his head from his hands to give them a steely glare.

The pair stared at him for a moment in astonishment, before Zevran lifted a sardonic, silver eyebrow.

"Well, OK, maybe not _all_ of it," the King admitted with a bitter shrug. "But most of it."

The bard and the assassin looked at each other for a moment, then started talking again. This time, they used a different language. Sigrun still couldn't understand a word. Leliana stood and Zevran turned his back to her. She began shoving things into his pack. The back and forth chatter continued. Sigrun narrowed her eyes as Leliana removed something from Zevran's pack and, with a quick flick of her wrist, tucked it into the front of her leather armor.

What was the Orlesian hiding?

"I can understand that, too," the King interrupted.

Again, he was treated to twin stares of amazement.

"We've certainly been a busy school boy, haven't we?" Zevran said, grinning lecherously. "Tell me, what else have you learned?"

"None of your business," the King answered, but a ghost of a smile crossed his face. It was gone almost before Sigrun had a chance to register it. "You'll have a trail to follow when you get there, Zevran."

Sigrun narrowed her eyes for a moment, glancing back and forth between the pair by the door and the King on his throne. Apparently it had been agreed upon that the elf was going after Nathaniel's trail. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. He was an assassin, so she guessed he was good at tracking people. But for some reason, the decision made her uneasy.

Perhaps because it had been done without including her, or any of the Commander's Wardens for that matter. Or maybe because it had been decided in either of the two languages she hadn't understood in the slightest. Maybe that was it. A wry smile touched her lips. Here she was, complaining about not being included in decision-making when she didn't even really _like_ being leader in the first place.

"Indeed?"

"As soon as her Wardens noticed her abduction, one of them followed the trail while the rest came here," the King explained. "Nathaniel Howe is an excellent tracker, and he knows someone was going to be sent after him, so-"

"Howe?" Zevran interrupted, and his entire body tensed like a bowstring. "As in someone related to Rendon Howe?"

The King nodded. "His son."

"Son." Zevran repeated, as if the word were strange. He turned to Leliana, who raised her hands in a cautious gesture. "Son of the man who murdered her family? _This_ is who was trusted to follow her trail?"

Sigrun's blood turned to ice, and a contrary heat burned between her temples. She didn't care how famous this Antivan was, if he said one more thing in that line of thought, she was officially not responsible for her actions.

The King was giving a similar look of warning. "He is one of her Wardens. Has been for five years. She trusts him. _I_ trust him."

"Oh, how lovely," the elf sneered.

"Zev," Leliana said sternly, grabbing her companion's arm. "Stop it."

He shook off her grip, and continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Never mind the fact that he may have masterminded this entire thing for revenge for his father's murder and the loss of his lands. What a silly thing to consider! How childish of me."

"Considering that he was made a Warden for breaking into Vigil's Keep in an attempt to steal it back, I'd say it's a safe assumption that he's put all that behind him." The King rose to his feet, his hands clenched into angry fists. "Lorelai has put it all behind her, as well. If you don't respect me, respect _her_."

"Perhaps your naivety has infected our dear leader, since he should've been tossed on the rack instead of being made a Warden!" the elf countered, his fine features twisting with contempt.

"Enough!" Sigrun shouted, drawing all eyes. Part of her mind wondered what she thought she was doing, but it couldn't be heard over the rest, which was drowning out all common sense and appropriateness. "Tell me, elf, were you there when the Commander took over Vigil's Keep?"

The assassin's jaw tightened as he stared at her, but he didn't answer.

"Were you there when darkspawn slaughtered all the Wardens sent from Orlais, leaving the Commander with three recruits to take on an unknown threat? Oh, excuse me," Sigrun laughed harshly, "make that two, since one of them didn't survive the Joining. Were you there to address the issue of _talking_ darkspawn, and the moral implications of that?" She'd been walking closer to Zevran without even realizing it. Now the toes of her boots touched the toes of his. Looking up into his face, she hissed, "Were you there to take down the filthy abomination called the Mother?"

"No," he finally answered.

"I didn't think so!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "But I certainly was, and so was Nathaniel Howe! Don't you dare speak ill of him, since you were too interested in carrying on with your life to stick around and help the Commander! He is a kind, caring, decent man. His only 'crime' is being related to a man who let power consume him.

"You want to blame Nathaniel for his father's actions? I think, if we looked at what _you've_ done, we'd find a whole lot more to condemn!" Sigrun took a deep breath, keeping her arms locked at her sides. She feared if she didn't, her hands would be reaching for her blades.

"Are you this Nathaniel's lover?" Zevran asked.

"What?" Sigrun blurted out. His shocking question completely drained the righteous anger from her. Nathaniel's lover? What a ridiculous suggestion. He'd never have someone like her, a casteless dwarf. Not that he knew what "casteless" meant. Besides, who said she wanted a great, tall human? Sure, he was handsome in a roguish way, with the warmest laugh she'd ever heard. Not the point really, as the question was ludicrous. Totally. "No! I mean- Why would you even-"

"Then he is a fool," interrupted Zevran, "to let one who would so passionately defend him go unnoticed."

Sigrun blinked several times, still reeling. "I- I don't know what you're talking about."

"But you do," the elf countered, grinning suddenly. "I'm sure he and I will have a lot to talk about once I find him."

"Hello," said Leliana, coming around Zevran's back. "We haven't been introduced. Shame on you, Alistair," she directed the last at the King with a hurtful look.

"This is Sigrun, also one of Lorelai's Wardens for the past five years," he responded, managing to look embarrassed and exhausted at the same time. "She is formerly of the Legion of the Dead."

"Oh, a dead woman! How exciting!" Leliana teased, holding her hand out to Sigrun.

Her spine tingling unpleasantly at the teasing. Though she was no longer a legionnaire, it was hard to tolerate jokes about her "death". She had come to understand that humans and elves were very uncomfortable with the symbolic death all legionnaires went through. They joked because they were confused. In her infinite wisdom, she forgave them that. She took Leliana's hand and shook it.

"The most beautiful corpse I've ever seen," Zevran added, his grin a slick display of seduction. It might have worked, if Sigrun didn't have an intense dislike for him now. "So, shall I tell your Nathaniel anything when I find him?"

"He's not _my_ Nathaniel," she managed between gritted teeth. How had the Commander not killed him during the Blight?

"Of course, of course. My error, forgive me." The elf's eyes danced. "Anything you want me to tell him, anyway?"

"That he better be taking excellent care of Jacob," Sigrun shot back, feeling like the elf would not stop unless she said _something_.

"We'll send your vulture after you," the King said. "When you locate Nathaniel, and the place they've taken Lorelai, send word."

"What an excellent idea," Zevran beamed. "I'll be on my way then."

"Stop at the stables, have the horse master give you one of those ridiculous demon-horses given to us by the Rivaini," the King added.

Zevran paled a bit at that. "Demon-horses, you say? How...comforting."

"They're fast, Zevran. That is what you need."

"Of course." The assassin turned to Leliana, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Farewell, my sweet. You will join me soon, I assure you."

"Be careful, Zev," she replied firmly.

Sketching an elegant bow to the King, then to Sigrun (accompanied by a dirty-minded wink), the former Crow turned to leave.

"Zevran," the King called out.

"Yes?" He turned back.

When there was no answer forthcoming, Sigrun turned to look, as well. The King's eyes were staring at the floor, and he was chewing stubbornly, compulsively, on one of his fingernails. "Find her," he finally said, and the thickness in his voice nearly broke Sigrun's heart.

The elf's face froze for a moment, as if unsure what to do with this display of emotion. "I will, Your Majesty. This I promise you." Then he left, the great doors of the throne room swinging shut behind him with an air of determination.

"Now," Leliana said briskly into the silence. "Let's get you something to eat, Alistair. I'll make that stew you like, hmm?"

"All right," he answered glumly.

"Excellent."

One of the side doors into the throne room swung open, and Anders rushed in, a blur of robes and blond hair. "Did I miss them? What's the plan? I-" The mage broke off what he was saying and staggered to a stop near the throne. His eyes had gone wide, and his mouth was hanging open, just a bit.

He was staring at Leliana.

Sigrun could barely suppress the groan that wanted so desperately to fall from her lips. She'd never seen the mage thunderstruck since she'd known him. Apparently, _this_ is what it looked like.

A wry smile on his face, the King stood up and snapped his fingers in front of the mage's unblinking eyes. "Leliana, meet Anders. Grey Warden, mage, and Tower escapist extraordinaire."

"Oh, my word!" she cooed, clapping a hand to her cheek. "How many times did you escape, ser mage?"

"Seven times, my lady," Anders said quietly, his eyes still big as dinner plates. He'd managed to close his jaw, at any rate.

"How marvelous!" Leliana answered. "Come, I want to hear all about it while we fix something for Alistair to eat." Bounding (there was no other word for it) delightfully forward, Leliana linked one arm with the King, and the other with Anders. Chatting amicably, she led the men toward the kitchen.

Sigrun couldn't help it. She slapped her palm to her forehead in dismay.

"Come on, Sigrun!" Leliana called back over her shoulder. "I'm sure you're hungry, too!"

The dwarf began following, her mind spinning in a blur. A lovesick Anders? What was she supposed to do with that?


	11. Tricksy Bard

**Thank goodness for Leliana breaking my writer's block for me!**

**

* * *

**

Alistair's fingers trembled, and the spoon fell from his grip to clatter to the table. He narrowed his eyes at Leliana, giving her the best glare he could. It wasn't working very well for a lot of reasons. Partly because, in the bard's experience, he wasn't the best glare-er. Mostly because he was having trouble making his eyes focus.

"You treacherous, sneaky...underhanded...lying..." the almost-templar growled.

"Now, now, darling," Leliana warned, wagging her finger at him. "_Do_ watch your language."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. Raising his unsteady hand, he pointed in Leliana's general direction accusingly. "Double-crossing...wolf-in-sheep's-clothing..."

"Your Majesty?" Sigrun's voice was filled with confusion, and just a hint of alarm. "Is something-"

Leliana's nerves tensed. Dealing with everyone in a few moments was going to be tricky, at best. If only Lorelai were here... The gap between her present and past companions would be easily bridged. But, obviously, if Lorelai were here, they probably wouldn't have met in the first place.

The Orlesian tried to swallow passed the lump that had formed in her throat. May the Maker have mercy on those who had stolen her friend. _She_ certainly didn't plan to show them any mercy. But she couldn't dwell on that right now. Her first priority was taking care of the friend in front of her, since he seemed to have forgotten how.

"..._bard!_" Alistair finished. Just in time, too. He slumped forward, smacking his head on the table and missing the empty stew bowl by inches.

The room devolved into chaos faster than Leliana could blink. Going against all instincts, she remained sitting, even as Sigrun raced around the table and drew her blades. The elves, Aednat and Aideen, followed suit, closing in from behind her. Leliana didn't need to look to know their weapons were out and ready. It took everything she had to keep her back to them.

She flicked a glance across the table to Anders, who'd gotten to his feet, as well. His eyes, once filled only with blatant adoration (which she had to admit was appealing), now looked at her with a mixture of horror and confusion. Leliana preferred the adoration, and she felt a strange pang in her chest with its absence. How silly.

She risked another glance to Oghren, who was blinking at her owlishly. She suppressed a sigh. No help from him. Not that she'd expected any. The drunken dwarf could not be counted on for a lot, but loyalty was one thing he excelled at...in his own strange way. However, what she'd just done had gone right over his head. Therefore, she was alone in a room full of strangers...who thought she'd just murdered their King. Unhelpful.

Her eyes settled on Sigrun. There was the leader, there was the one she needed to convince.

"What did you do to him?" she snarled, dark eyes spitting fire.

"He's not dead," Leliana answered simply, waving her hand casually. "You can check if you like. Although, one would think you would have done that first, no?"

"Anders," Sigrun snapped without taking her eyes from Leliana.

The mage moved without question. From her peripheral vision, the bard could see the expert touch of a healer's hands as he danced his fingers over Alistair's throat and wrist. "He's alive," he answered. "In fact, he's just-"

A rumbling snore interrupted him.

"-sleeping," he finished, a relieved smile crossing his face.

Leliana spread her hands wide, trying to grin as innocently as possible. "See? No harm done."

Sigrun narrowed her eyes, and started to lower her weapons. Slowly, though. "You drugged him."

"Indeed. If I may?" Leliana made to reach into her armor. Sigrun nodded tightly. Reaching into her leather bodice, she pulled out the packet of powder. With a gentle flick of her wrist, she tossed it to Anders. The mage caught it out of reflex. "Go on, inspect it."

There was a rustle of paper, followed by a thoughtful pause as he tasted it. "Woo, that's got a punch to it!" he exclaimed. "Do you go hunting for bear with this stuff, madam bard?"

Leliana took her eyes off of Sigrun, and she let what she knew to be a dazzling smile curve her lips. "Wouldn't you like to know, ser mage?"

He blushed, but he smiled nonetheless. "Not sure that I would now, actually."

That blush of his was purely delicious. Could she make it worse? "A shame," she purred, and threw in a wink for good measure.

The color in his cheeks deepened, but he kept that smile. "Indeed."

"Look, my arms are getting tired," one of the elves said from behind Leliana's back. She had only just met them, and couldn't recognize just based on the voice which one it was. A tiny frown creased her brow. This was no time to be lax with her observational skills. "Are we going to kill her, or what?"

Sigrun sighed, and sheathed her blades in a smooth motion over her shoulders. "No, Aednat, we're not."

"All right, then."

Leliana felt relief ease through her muscles, erasing the tension in a flood. "Thank you," she said, inclining her head to Sigrun.

"Next time you're going to do something like that, I'd appreciate a head's up," the dwarf said irritably.

"It would've been suspicious if I'd tried to talk to you alone," Leliana pointed out. "This way, we weren't all staring at him while he ate."

A pained expression crossed the dwarf's face. "Did you _have_ to drug him? I mean, you seemed like you had no problem getting him to do what you wanted."

The bard's smile faded a bit. "I can boss him around to eat, yes. But sleep? I cannot order him to do that. We can lock him in his room all we want, he'll simply wear a groove through the stone with his pacing."

"He does do a lot of that when he's anxious, doesn't he?" Sigrun agreed.

Leliana rolled her eyes comically. "Count your blessings that he doesn't have a habit of wearing his ridiculous armor around the palace. Maker, the racket in camp!"

Sigrun laughed, and Leliana knew that she was truly in the clear. "Oghren, go locate some burly guards to drag the King to his bedchamber."

"What do you want me to tell 'em? That the sassy Orlesian put him out? Should go over well," he snorted.

"Tell them he had too much to drink," Leliana supplied. "They should believe that, coming from _you_."

Oghren got to his feet. "Ha ha ha. Haven't missed you one bit, you snooty bitch."

"Yes, you have," Leliana argued, smiling widely and batting her eyelashes.

He threw up his hands and stomped from the room. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"How long will he be out?" Sigrun asked, turning to look at Alistair. She gave him an experimental poke on the shoulder.

"A day, at least. When he wakes, we'll do it again," Leliana answered.

"Again?" Sigrun shook her head. "I don't know about-"

"Sigrun," Leliana interrupted, and she could feel her polite smile freeze into place, "you have done an excellent job holding everything together. It is not your fault that you could not control Alistair. You do not know him well enough, and you're not equipped to defy him. Given your present set of skills, you have done all you could.

"But now, in the state he has worked himself into, there is no other measure but force. If we continue to ask, to plead, we will fail. Alistair's heart and soul is completely ruled by Lorelai. No one, including myself or the rest of his friends, has ever had to deal with him in a situation like this. He will drive himself mad before we have a chance to rescue her if we allow him to. Force is the only way we will control him right now."

Silence greeted her speech. She wasn't terribly surprised by that.

"You act like he's some kind of...wild animal," Anders said.

"You have never seen him in battle," Leliana pointed out. "I have, and he is a man to be reckoned with. That must be restored to him, and then contained, until we find Lorelai. Then, we can unleashed him." She smiled, and she knew it wasn't a friendly one. "When that time comes, _then_ you will know the Alistair I know."

The guards came in at that moment. "Oh, gentlemen, thank you so much!" Leliana gushed, clapping her hands together. "He's so dreadfully heavy, you know. We just couldn't manage him on our own. We just don't have such...strength at our disposal." She batted her eyelashes.

They drew their spines taller at her praise, then bowed to her, and between the two of them carried Alistair's sleeping form out the door.

The instant the door closed behind them, the blonde elf, Aednat, burst into laughter. "Oh, you're incredible. I'd never have the stomach for that routine!"

"It's a beneficial skill to have. Perhaps you underestimate yourself," Leliana countered.

"Oh, she doesn't," the other elf, Aideen, said. "She'd vomit halfway through. As would I. We'll leave that kind of linguistic dance to you."

"A pity. No woman should undervalue the advantage of playing to a man's ego."

"We don't play to _anyone's_ ego," Aednat said firmly.

Leliana's sharp gaze took in the broadsword, now sheathed, over Aideen's shoulder and the shine of Aednat's longsword as she spun it idly, the point drilling a minute hole in the floor. "No, I can see that you don't."

"Could everyone give Leliana and I a minute, please?" Sigrun asked.

The elves rose without question. "Don't let her talk you in circles," Aednat called over her shoulder brightly. They were gone a moment later.

Anders was slower to leave. "Sigrun, are you going to-"

"Behave? Fight her? Steal her heart so you can't have it? Run off and leave her in charge? Talk? Get her to drug _me_ until we find the Commander?" she supplied, grinning brazenly at him.

He stared at her in muted shock.

"In case you were wondering, the answers are yes, no, no, no, yes, and no," she added impudently.

Leliana couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her mouth. "Don't worry, Anders. I know I promised you some tales of my thrilling escapades in exchange for your Tower stories. I won't forget."

His pained gaze switched back and forth between the two women. "Maker help me," he finally groaned, leaving the room without a backwards glance.

"Oh, he's fun," Leliana said with a wistful sigh. "Now, what did want to talk to me about?"

"I have questions," Sigrun said, pacing around the table to be across from the bard. She sat down in the seat heavily, as if her questions weighed her down. "I'd like answers."

Leliana spread her hands wide and smiled innocently. "I'll answer them as best I can." Whether the answers would be the truth or not, well, that depended on the question.

"What is with you and Zevran?"

The Orlesian blinked. _That_ question was unexpected. "We are partners, confidantes, allies, friends."

"Nothing more?"

"No, although he is quite handsome, isn't he?" Leliana winked and wrinkled her nose to irk the dwarf.

"I suppose if you like that sort of thing," Sigrun snorted.

"You don't?"

"I don't like games," the Grey Warden replied. "He seems to enjoy them."

"If I may counter with my own question, why do you want to know? What does my relationship, or lack thereof, with Zev have to do with anything?"

"You seemed intimate. I was just curious."

"Ah, you Fereldans and your definition of 'intimate'!" Leliana scoffed. "That is not why you asked, by the way."

"Excuse me?" Sigrun seemed offended at the implication.

"That's not why you asked. What is the truth?"

"I like to know the relationships of those fighting around me. Loyal is loyal, but when love is on the line, people will act accordingly."

"A very shrewd observation," Leliana agreed. "So tell me, _are_ you Nathaniel's lover?"

Sigrun's hands smacked flat on the table. "I believe you were there when I answered that question," she said quietly, her voice filled with outrage.

"Of course, but I assumed you were lying in front of the boys. Come now, just us girls." Leliana leaned forward and gave a conspiratorial wink. "I won't tell."

"You have my answer, and I won't give it again," the dwarf answered tightly.

"Fine, fine." Leliana sat back, raising her hands in surrender. She wondered if Sigrun knew how transparent she was. They may not be lovers, Leliana was willing to grant her that. But the dwarf certainly wanted them to be. Why would that be something to hide. Maybe she was simply shy.

Or maybe the former legionnaire was unaware of her own heart. Perhaps she truly believed what she was saying. Could someone be so blind? It seemed a legitimate possibility. Interesting. "Next question."

"What do you intend to do about Anders?"

Again, surprising. "Do about him? I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean. If you are not interested in him in the slightest, tell him now. Don't string him along."

"My, my. We _are_ protective of our brother Warden, aren't we?" Leliana wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Not Nathaniel's lover, but perhaps someone else's?"

"Sweet bloody Stone, no!" Sigrun exclaimed. "Are you serious?"

Leliana smirked. That was the appropriate response for the truth. If Sigrun had really wanted to deny her feelings for the mysterious Nathaniel Howe, she would've been better off with this tactic. Of course, that would indicate that she knew there was a tactic to be taken. If she was truly desired Howe unknowingly, she wouldn't think about how defensive her answers sounded. "Then it is from sheer sisterly concern that you demand action from me regarding your lovely, blond mage?"

Sigrun glared at her and didn't answer.

"Well you certainly can't expect me to have an answer _now_, can you? I have only just met him!" The bard rested her chin on one hand. "He is dreamy, though, I must admit. And he resembles Alistair so much, I may finally be able to indulge a little curiosity of mine."

"He what?"

"I've always been interested in what Lorelai sees when she beds her champion. I mean, Alistair is handsome and all, but you know, everything is different from _that_ angle. Anders could satisfy that little question quite easily."

Sigrun clapped her hands to her ears in horror. "OK, first of all, eww! Second of all, eww for thinking of the Commander and the King together! Third, you are _not_ using Anders just for...for...that!"

Leliana laughed. "Oh, I do so enjoy you Fereldans. I will give you this, Sigrun: I promise not to play games with your mage. I will be genuine with him, and that will lead us wherever it may. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes, yes! Just...ugh! Never talk about him, the Commander, or the King in that context ever again!"

"Surely you can't tell me you've never imagined it?"

"No! Why would I? It's so inappropriate!"

"Trust me, it's not so inappropriate when the pair of them are making a racket two tents over," Leliana assured her. "It's a wonder Morrigan didn't simply light their tent on fire for some peace and quiet."

Sigrun swallowed hard. "You know them differently than I do, so please, try to keep memories like that to yourself."

"If you'd like."

"Now, if you can do a little bit of editing for the poor, simple Fereldan...would you tell me about that time? About the Blight? About all of you?"

The bard blinked and mentally reminded herself to never underestimate Sigrun. "You wish to hear of the Blight?"

"I want to hear about your relationships. I want to hear about the Commander, and the King, and even Zevran." She stuck her tongue out in disgust briefly. "I need to understand how it works, how you _all _work, so that I'm not flailing about as I have been. I cannot lead _them_," she pointed out toward the palace, indicating the party she commanded, "when I don't know what I'm dealing with."

Leliana nodded, and gave Sigrun the first genuine smile the dwarf had seen from her. "I couldn't agree more. Where to begin?"

"Begin with the King."

"Of course. First of all, by the time I met them, it was crystal clear that Alistair would walk through fire if Lorelai told him to..."


	12. Circles

Nathaniel swayed on his feet, and the stars spun in the sky for an instant as his vision blurred. Reaching out blindly to his left, he laughed in breathless relief when he skinned his knuckles against rough bark. He leaned toward the tree. Perhaps "lean" was too gentle a word. "Collapse" was a bit more appropriate. His shoulder took the brunt of his weight, but he barely noticed the impact. All he noticed was the blissful support of something.

Jacob whined near his hip, and he reached down to stroke the wardog's head. It appeared that the dog was in better shape than he was, but maybe that wasn't surprising. He was, after all, a mabari. Built of sterner stuff than a mere nobleman's son. Grey Warden or not.

"Just a minute, boy," he whispered. "I just need a moment."

Jacob huffed loudly, but sat on his haunches. His ears pricked forward though, and his muscles were tense. Ready to be off as soon as Nathaniel was ready.

Ready was an extremely relative term at the moment. He had been on the road for months, how many he wasn't quite sure anymore. Life had narrowed to three simple imperatives: eat enough to live, sleep enough to remain sane, don't lose the trail. That trio ruled his world. Being a Grey Warden, living at Vigil's Keep...that seemed like someone else's life. The only reminder that he wasn't going mad, hadn't imagined the past, was Jacob.

He stared fixedly at the all-important trail, blazed into the ground by the weight of horses and men. Where on this Maker-forsaken continent were they going? Didn't they have a plan, or at the very least, a place to run _to_? He'd never imagined to be desperately scrambling after the Commander this far into her kidnapping. At this point, he'd figured they would've been infiltrating an enemy camp, at the very least.

Nathaniel smiled ruefully. In reality, if someone had asked him where he thought they'd be this far down the line, it would be at Vigil's Keep with the Commander safely rescued. Not still traipsing across the countryside, lagging after the traitorous scum like the most pathetic stray dog in the world.

His eyes absently traced the hoof prints in the dirt, following one shape as it bled into the one beside it. It was a complete mess, really. The prints were not clear, just a mush of churned earth and indentations. They were flat-out galloping most of the time. Running willy-nilly for...where?

His gaze meandered to the right, still following the prints. It took a few seconds before he realized the trail didn't _go_ right...but there were hoof prints there just the same. Gathering his strength, he took his weight off the tree and cross to the offending tracks. He bent low, tracing the other prints with his fingertips.

They were older, but still had the same disorganized, rushing quality as the trail he was following. Jacob came over to sniff by Nathaniel's hand. His throat vibrated with a menacing growl, but he offered no cause for alarm, no acknowledgment of a new threat.

The reality crashed over Nathaniel with all the subtly of oxen loose in the armory.

This _was_ the same trail, just from before. He'd already walked this portion, seen this prints. The bastards were crossing over their own trail. Perhaps this wasn't even the first time.

They were going in circles...and he was following their aimless wanderings.

A thousand questions, and their political implications, piled up in his head so fast he could barely keep them straight. Attempting to puzzle them out would keep his brain occupied while his body mechanically kept tracking later. But right now, this very second, he had no desire to figure them out. He did the only thing he wanted to do at the moment.

A scream of frustration burst from him, rebounding against the heavy boughs. Jacob winced and lowered his head. Pushing his hair out of his face with furious, shaking hands, Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "Come on, boy."

* * *

Alistair opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling momentarily. Bedroom? It would seem so, with the pillows and the sheets and whatnot. He hadn't been here for quite some time. The bed felt empty in the worst way, like even the _furniture_ knew something very important was missing. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hoping to block out the world. Perhaps he could fall asleep again, though Maker only knew how he'd done it in the first place.

"Glad you decided to join me."

Oh, right. _That_ was how he'd managed it. He stared fixedly at the ceiling. "I'm not speaking to you, just so you know."

"Oh? So that's not your vibrant, colorful voice I'm hearing right now?"

"Nope."

"Well, fancy that. Perhaps I've gone mad then."

"I would imagine so," he answered matter-of-factly.

He heard her sigh theatrically. "What a shame. Madness _certainly_ isn't going to help get Lorelai back. I wonder what being mad would be helpful with..."

Alistair gritted his teeth at the obvious rebuke, and didn't need to look at her to know she was tapping her chin in mock-thoughtfulness. Spend a year in someone's company, all day and all night, and you get to know things about them. Five years ago or not.

"Perhaps being mad would help run the country," she mused. "I suppose monarchs have gotten away with it before, though never for long. Or maybe it is an advantage when being a Grey Warden. It's true that thinking like one's enemy can assist in uncovering their motives. But madness seems to be taking that to the extreme a bit."

Oh, Andraste. Why, exactly, was it that he'd called for their friends? "Enough," he growled, grabbing a nearby pillow and tossing it in the direction her voice was coming from. "I yield, Leliana."

"I'm not mad? What a fabulous discovery! I shall write in my diary later."

"You don't have a diary," he snorted.

She sniffed loudly, and pulled around herself a cloak of feigned haughtiness that flowed across the room. "And how would you know, ser? Did you snoop through my tent all those years ago?"

"Maybe."

That surprised a shout of laughter from her. "Oh, I think not! You have as much stealth as a rutting bull!"

"Hey!" He sat up, finally looking at the scarlet-haired bard. Snatching another pillow, he hurled it at her with force.

Leliana caught it easily, laughing again. "You grace me with your eyes, Your Majesty." She bowed low, shoulders shaking with the last giggles.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A little over a day."

"What did you give me?" he asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly.

"Nothing that can't be given to you again...and again...and again." Her grin was innocent, and her eyes blinked entirely too often.

"I don't like the sound of that," Alistair said cautiously.

"Really, darling, you have let this go on far too long."

"Wasn't exactly my choice," he pointed out, fist clenching against the sheets. He knew she was right, at least a little bit. The frayed bits of his mind seemed to rub against the inside of his skull painfully. Only a day of sleep had led him down the road of recuperation just enough to know the state his head was in. That was it. It would take many more restful nights to get the pieces of his brain to act like a cohesive whole again.

But he _couldn't_ sleep. Every time he nodded off he dreamed of Lorelai. He heard her screaming for him, calling for help. He couldn't see her, and he was left trying to follow the sound of her voice through a fog. No matter how fast he ran, she never seemed any closer. That was always how he woke: panting, heart hammering in his chest with panic and desperation.

Forgive him if he hadn't wanted to sleep.

"I know," Leliana said, "but it's something that has to be remedied." She threw her hands in the air. "Andraste only knows what punishment Lorelai would devise for me if she came home to find you a driveling lunatic."

"I don't need to be taken care of. I'm not a child," he said sternly.

"Really? Though I suppose you're right, since I've known children capable of feeding themselves."

His frustration snapped, flowing down his arm in a rush that ended with his fist striking the ornate wooden headboard with enough force that the frame creaked in protest. "Damn it, Leliana! If there's a book of rules for how to act when your wife is abducted, I'll read it cover to cover. Until you find said book, I'd like a touch less sarcasm!"

She stared at him, her pretty countenance filled with steel. "We will find her, Alistair. Those who have her will regret the day their fathers bedded their mothers and began their miserable lives."

His muscles locked up, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. "Perhaps I was a bit hasty when I condemned your sarcasm. All of a sudden I find myself yearning for it."

"But we _need_ you," Leliana continued, brushing aside his attempt at levity. "Lorelai _needs_ you. And not half-starved and insane. She needs you at your templar-trained, Grey Warden, King of Ferelden best. We will _fail_ without you."

For a few moments, he just stared at her. He'd probably heard the bard say ten serious things since he'd known her. Now here she was, making rousing speeches. "You're pretty good at being uplifting, you know that?"

"One of my many talents," she beamed, beatific and flirtatious once more.

"Of course." He thought for a moment, rolling his thoughts around his mind slowly. Getting back into the habit of thinking, instead of functioning in an automatic walking-corpse sort of way, was going to take a little bit. "So, can your sneaky tricks get me to sleep through the nights like you normal, non-frantic-husband folk?"

"Absolutely, but after you get into a routine, you shouldn't need it anymore."

"Oh, I'm going to need it. At least until we're on the move. I didn't dream last night, and it needs to stay that way."

Leliana nodded, as if she knew exactly what he meant by that. "Two more vultures arrived. Wynne and Shale say to leave without them. Wynne has sent Shale on ahead," she informed him. "How long it takes Zev to find Nathaniel Howe and send their location back will determine if we actually _do_ leave without them, of course."

He blew out a sigh. Shale. He couldn't believe the golem had agreed to come. The vermin who'd taken Lorelai would be in for a rude surprise. "Guess we won't have to worry about any fortifications they may have."

"Not likely," she agreed, the feral grin on her face mirroring his ruthless feelings perfectly.


	13. A Handful of Silvers

"Where is the famous silver tongue that so enthralled the Landsmeet, teryna? I've heard such tales of your loquaciousness."

Lorelai didn't look up, though the inappropriate title made her want to. She had never been haughty, but her captivity made her want to wrap her Queenhood around her like a child's bedtime toy. The urge to shout at him to address her properly was building slowly every day.

Through some trick of timing, she was being treated to a lucid moment in the early evening. Amazing how much one can begin to miss the sun. She watched it throw patterns of light across the ground, ignoring the boots that stood in her peripheral, as she hugged her knees to her chest as much as her bulging stomach would allow.

"Of course, tales do have a tendency to grow and twist with each telling. That's to be expected. I find myself disappointed, nonetheless." He sighed deeply. "I begin to question how you managed the Landsmeet at all, arlessa."

She could stand no more, though she stopped herself from shouting. "I find it...interesting that you give me all manner of titles...except the one you abducted me for."

He laughed then, loud and deep, as if she'd told a particularly good joke. "An excellent point you make! Forgive me, but a flaw in my character deems that I only address people by the titles they have _earned_."

Lorelai tilted her head, finally looking up at him. The sun allowed her to finally see his features, and she vowed that _this_ was not something the drug would take from her. His face would not fade into the smoke.

His shoulder-lenth hair was black, but liberally streaked with gray so the black was muted. The stubble on his cheeks she'd noticed long ago had matured into the beginnings of a beard. Wrinkles carved deep into the skin of his face, like they'd been chiseled into stone. From her position on the ground, she guessed he would be slightly taller than Alistair. All in all a very ordinary man, but his green eyes burned with such conviction that it sent a shiver down her spine.

Though she had already sensed it, his eyes left no doubt. This was not a man who could be convinced that the path he had chosen was wrong. The silver tongue he mocked would be of no use against him.

"So I have not earned...my title?" She arched an eyebrow, and pushed her face into snide lines. "Funny, since the Landsmeet...disagreed with you. Where were you...that day...I wonder?"

Rage flashed over his face briefly. "If I were you, the only thing I'd be wondering is how my husband is fairing." He grinned and tilted his head to the side. "It's been over three months. The list of things he would _not_ do to get you back must be getting rather short, don't you think?" Bending at his waist, he leaned down until his face was inches away from hers. "How much longer before he'd do _anything_, hmm?"

Her blood ran hot, and she dug her nails into the thin material of her skirt. "Your bearing and your...manners make me think you...were a noble. I say 'were' of course...because you clearly abandoned...all aspects of _nobility_...long ago," she sneered, willing her face to show the contempt she truly felt. "Did Loghain know...he was lost even before the...Landsmeet, and send you away...to bide your time until revenge...could be had? Or did _you_ lose faith in your...traitorous leader, and flee Ferelden?"

The snarl that spilled from his lips rose the hairs on her arms. "Loghain was a fool!"

_That_ was a surprising answer. "On that much we agree." Lorelai gave a smile filled to the brim with pity. "At any rate...it doesn't matter. Your voice at the Landsmeet would...not have changed anything. People had seen Loghain for the traitor he was...and were ready to embrace the rightful...heir to the throne."

"You mean ready to embrace what you shoved down their throats." His face was so close to hers that she could hear his teeth grinding together.

She gave as elegant and disdainful a shrug as her shoulders would allow.

His eyes narrowed and he pulled away at last. "It seems you have caused me to forget myself and speak out of turn. Perhaps I should not have prodded your silver tongue out of its slumber. I will be more cautious next time, my lady." As he turned to leave, he shot over his shoulder. "Make my words, Warden-Commander, by the time I speak with your husband, he will be _begging_ me for my demands."

She glared at his retreating back, and tried to quiet the trembling of her hands. For once, their shaking had nothing to do with the drug.

* * *

Zevran slid unceremoniously out of the saddle, only to collapse into a graceless heap on the ground as his legs refused to hold him up. The horse snorted in disgust and danced to the right, away from the pile of elf next to it.

"Your compassion is truly boundless," the elf in question said from the ground. Days in the saddle had rendered him into one, massive sore muscle. The former Crow hurt in places he hadn't even been aware of until now. "A position in the Chantry must surely be your calling." Reaching up, he grabbed hold of the stirrup and used it to help pull him upright.

The horse was not amused at such weight hauling on him in such an unbalanced fashion, and tried to move away.

Zevran stumbled, but kept his feet by not losing his grip on the saddle. He flailed a hand forward and snatched the reins. "I do not know much about horses, my friend, but I do know that _I'm_ supposed to be in charge, yes?" He gave the reins a sharp tug. "So perhaps you could stem the theatrics a bit."

Swinging its head around, the horse glared at him with one dark eye.

"Ah, fine." Zevran dropped the reins quickly. "Perhaps not in charge then. How about, partners? Does that suit your noble sensibilities better?"

It snorted again, and tossed its head fitfully, but at least it stopped glaring.

Zevran sighed with relief and looked around. "So, this must be Lothering." In the deep blue light that came before true darkness descended, torches flickered and danced. The homes and places of business looked adequate, if plain and boring. The streets were mostly abandoned; none of the usual nighttime revelry as seen in Orlais or Antiva. The air was heavy with the sounds of crickets and frogs, whose choruses were border-line deafening in the absence of people.

He was not impressed. Too long spent in other, fancier lands. The earthiness of Ferelden had always been slightly off-putting to him. This country seemed just a few steps ahead of barbarism...and its citizens were seemingly thrilled by it.

Well, he had a barbarian Queen to find.

Walking slowly, putting one foot in front of the other very carefully, he started making his way across the quiet town. Having both feet on the ground, even just until he reached the woods on the other side of Lothering, seemed an excellent idea. The horse followed behind him of its own accord. He wasn't about to grab the reins again. "Demon-horse" didn't even begin to cover the beast. When he saw Alistair again, he planned on asking how good their relations were with the Rivaini. He wasn't sure the horses weren't some kind of secret weapon in the guises of gifts.

He'd reached what appeared to be the marketplace, when a prickling sensation raised the hairs on the back of his neck. The elf froze, and the horse stopped just short of hitting its nose into the back of his head. Its heavy breath ruffled his silver hair.

Zevran knew very well that he had to find the clearing where Lorelai had been kidnapped. It would make it pretty difficult to pick up the trail left by Howe if he didn't. There wasn't really any information to be had in the town proper. So why was he standing here, feeling an almost insurmountable compulsion to look around? He mulled the strange feeling around in his mind. Perhaps not look around, but definitely to stay...no, to _wait_.

Wait for what?

The horse shoved its nose into the back of his head, knocking him forward a few paces.

"All right, my friend, that will be enough. I am not here for you to abuse," Zevran said, smoothing his hair when the beast had mussed it. He felt a wet slime on his fingertips. "Ugh, nor am I here to be your handkerchief."

It stared at him with its wide-apart eyes. After a few moments, one of its ears swiveled to catch a sound. He narrowed his eyes, and then he heard what the horse must have heard: a whimper, just barely making itself known over the insistent singing of the insects and amphibians. The sound came from the darkness between two buildings.

Whatever it was, it wasn't the assassin's business. Heroics were not in his skill set. Focusing on the trilling of the crickets, he was determined to pretend he'd never heard the noise.

But the reluctance to leave that filled his body had not abated.

He sighed, and used the exhale to blow an errant strand of hair out of his eyes. Lorelai wouldn't approve of walking away, anyway. Seeking the shadows, he carefully made his way over to where the sound had come from. Zevran pressed himself against the building, creeping as quietly as he could. His abused legs shook in protest, and the elf knew he'd pay for this exertion later.

More sounds pulsed into the darkness: scuffles, a few more whimpers, tearing cloth. Crossing in front of a wooden storage shed, he could finally put a visual with the puzzle of noises. Cold fury rose up, swallowing his common sense in one freezing gulp.

The next thing he knew, he was standing over the bodies of the two men. The warmth of their blood pressed thickly against the outside of his boots. Ruby droplets fell from his blades to join the pool rapidly spreading across the ground. Apparently, heroics _were_ in his skill set.

The girl bit her lip as she struggled to hold what was left of her clothing around her battered body. The first stars managed to glint off the tears streaking down her face. When she finally raised her eyes to him, her expression held a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice strained with anger. "Well," he added quickly, "as all right as can be expected, I suppose."

A laugh jaded well beyond her years answered him. "I'll live."

"I have some medical supplies, as well as a very rudimentary knowledge of how to use them, should you require any of that." He pulled a comical face, desperate to drive that _look _from her eyes. "I'm sure that last statement has given you a huge vote of confidence, yes?"

She laughed again, this time with less bitterness. "The supplies would be welcome. I can bet my knowledge exceeds yours, so I'll be tending to my wounds. No offense."

"None taken. Quite a relief, actually." He bent to wipe his blades on the dead cowards at his feet. "May I escort you home, or get you a room for the night, if you've no home nearby?"

"That's...generous of you," she answered slowly, her voice filling with suspicion.

Sheathing his blades, Zevran held up his hands and took a pace back. "I mean nothing untoward, this I promise you. I would assume this takes you out of commission for the rest of the night. If one cannot make a living, one can at least relax in a free room, yes?"

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"No," he responded, "but I spent a great deal of my childhood surrounded by ladies such as yourself. For me, it is your eyes and your voice that give you away; they are far older than your body."

"And yet you saved me anyway? Why?"

"Contrary to popular belief, _everyone_ has a right to say 'no'. Even prostitutes."

She grinned then, and it was a smile that belonged to her age. "If only the rest of world believed you, good ser."

He sighed dramatically. "If only."

Laughing, she pushed to her feet with a wince. "Now, about that room..."

Zevran offered her his arm gallantly and led her carefully out into the marketplace, being sure to keep the pace slow and the steps short. He didn't care about the evidence he was leaving behind. He would be gone soon enough, and no investigation of any kind would catch him. And if by some devious twist of luck his actions were to come back to haunt him...well, he had only to call on his King-ly connections to free himself.

Though he and Alistair saw eye to eye on very little, Zevran felt sure that rape would be one thing they could agree to abhor. Perhaps it could even be a bonding experience for the two of them.

He steered obediently toward the inn she indicated, and the horse followed behind them like the largest mabari Ferelden had ever seen. Its impatience seemed to have vanished in the face of their current company.

"Don't get yourself snatched while I'm gone," the elf said to the horse as he untied one of the packs. "I would hate to have to purchase an inferior beast for the rest of the trip."

The horse sniffed and tossed its head, moving to stand near entrance of the establishment.

Zevran paid for the room, blatantly ignoring the looks they were getting. How sad it was that he couldn't tell if it was because he was an elf, or because she was a prostitute. Tragic times, indeed.

Negotiated the stairs took her a bit of time, and once they reached the room, she melted gratefully onto the bed. "My thanks, stranger."

He passed her the pack and settled himself into a chair near the only window. "No thanks necessary. Just be prepared for a visit from me if none of my companions believe me when I tell them I rescued a damsel in distress."

"Not something you normally do?" she asked as she rummaged around in the pack.

"Not generally, no. But perhaps I am turning over a new leaf, yes? Rescuing damsels, assisting friends." He waved his hand around airily. "I shall shock them all."

"Is that what you're doing in Lothering? Helping your friends?"

"Why do you ask?" He narrowed his eyes, and wondered suddenly if he'd made a grievous error. She was asking entirely too many questions for a prostitute. Or maybe his natural paranoia was getting the better of him.

She lifted her head, and must have seen the look on his face. "I don't mean to intrude. If it's private, I don't expect you to tell me."

"Is Lothering usually filled with ruffians of their type?" he asked, jerking his head in the vague direction of the two bodies. "Or are they a new development?"

"It would be silly to claim that Lothering is crime-free, but that's the first time I've run into _that_ particular problem. Street thieves and drunks are normally the worst of it. A few months ago me and my fellow, ahem, _ladies_," she winked, "feared that we were in for an entirely new set of criminals, but they left just as quickly as they came."

"Did they?" he asked calmly, though his mind was spinning just a little bit faster. "What kind of criminals?"

"Well, they didn't do anything wrong while they were here, so calling them criminals is a bit unfair, I suppose. But they were so strange! The whole band of them. They were polite enough to my friends and I, never too rough or anything. They even paid several of us to hang about all the time. But they were never, exactly, _happy_. All business, very serious. Kept talking about some 'prize', but I got the impression it was a person, not an actual prize. Isn't that odd?"

"Indeed it is," the elf answered mechanically, slowly rising to his feet. Was it possible for him to be this ridiculously lucky? Could coincidence fall close enough to reality to make a huge misunderstanding? "Did they happen to say where they were going once they left Lothering?"

"They mentioned Gwaren several times." She blinked at him, as if just noticing the change in his demeanor. "What is it?" Her breath left her all at once. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You're after them."

"Do you have everything you need from my pack?" he asked solicitously, keeping a tight grip on his urge to race out the door. Did he dare follow such a vague tale? In the back of his mind, he noticed the bizarre compulsion to wait was gone. Whatever it had been, divine intervention or Maker only knew what else, its sudden presence and even more sudden leave-taking were enough for him. "I should be on my way."

She clutched the pack to her chest. "What have they done?" she whispered. "They _were_ bad, weren't they? Oh, Maker, I knew it!"

"I cannot tell you," he answered her. "It would not be wise. You will have to be content to know that their 'prize'," Zevran's lips twisted in disgust at the demeaning nickname, "is someone greatly loved by powerful people."

Releasing her hold on the pack, she held it out to him. "Do be careful."

He grinned at her. "Such concern for my well-being. I'm touched." Pulling out a handful of silvers, he poured them into her hand. When she tried to protest, he cut her off. "I insist. I do not have enough gold on my person to truly pay you what this information is worth, so that will have to suffice."

Before she could mouth another argument, he left the room. The horse was waiting for him just where he'd left it. Sighing with dread, he swung himself into the saddle. He dearly hoped the bastards had holed up somewhere. If he had to go somewhere _else_ after he made it to Gwaren, it had better be somewhere close enough to walk on his own damn two feet.


	14. Brand New Mix

**Sorry it's been so long. I went on vacation, and then my parents came to visit. Craziness. Anyway, as always, thanks so much for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites. You guys rock my world :)**

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"Sod it, did you have to bury the stuff?" Oghren complained, dragging the heavy breastplate from the very back of the storage closet. "'Course, it would help if you didn't keep every blasted thing we found along the way!"

Alistair flexed his fingers inside the heavy metal gauntlets. It had been so long since his hands slid into them that they felt odd. Any time he had to wear armor nowadays, he wore the ornate, golden armor of the King…which made him feel like nothing so much as a shiny beetle. Clad in that monstrosity, an overwhelming sense of being merely for show always came over him.

But along with the oddness of the gauntlets he wore this very moment came a beautiful sense of purpose. He'd worn this set for most of the Blight, even after he'd been declared King. They'd tried to dress him as the golden beetle, but he'd shrugged them off. He'd face the Archdemon like he'd faced the rest of mess.

He flexed his fingers again, listening the leather creak like old wood. It would have to be oiled of course, softened up, but for now he liked the leather digging painfully into his skin. He was betting the breastplate would be even more uncomfortable, and the boots nearly intolerable. But he was looking forward to it. The pain would bring him focus.

"You're not expectin' me to sling this over your head, are you?" Oghren growled. The dwarf thrust the breastplate into Alistair's hands before dragging over a stool.

Smiling, he pulled the armor over his own head, noticing with irritation how heavy it was. It had never been heavy before. He'd let himself go, gotten comfortable. Then, of course, he'd attempted to starve himself. Unhelpful.

Oghren gruffly hauled himself onto the stool. His calloused fingers began tightened and adjusting all the leather fastening. "My fingers are damn near too thick for this, boy," he grumped.

"Lorelai used to do it," Alistair answered, savoring the bite of the metal and hard leather into his skin.

"Well, don't get to reminiscing about those times. I don't need you getting fresh with me," the dwarf warned.

"I won't," he replied, smiling again. As the armor settled into place, he remembered when she'd given it to him. He'd been standing over the decomposing body of Sophia Dryden, his sword and shield covered with filth. Lorelai had come up behind him, and immediately began hauling the armor off the corpse.

_"What are you doing?" he demanded, taking a few steps back in shock._

_ She tossed her crossbow to the floor, freeing up both her hands. "What does it look like I'm doing?"_

_ "Looting a rotting corpse."_

_ She grinned up at him, but he could see the strain around her eyes. The smile was a lie; she was livid. "Is that so out of the ordinary?"_

_ "I guess not...but-"_

_ "This," she hissed between clenched teeth as an ancient leather fastening gave way, "armor deserves a better wearer than her, don't you think?"_

_ "Yes, but-"_

_ "Don't worry, we'll get it cleaned up for you."_

_ He stared at her, aghast. "For _me_? Lorelai, I can't wear that!"_

_ "Why not?" She gave him a critical, up-and-down glance that made him blush. "Last time I checked you were strapping enough to handle it."_

_ "That's not why!" he protested frantically, his ears going even hotter as Morrigan's unconcealed giggles could be heard from the other side of the room. "It's…a Warden-Commander's armor. It wouldn't be proper. I'm not-"_

_ "Oh, stop being silly," she interrupted. "We are the only two left. It makes perfect sense."_

_ "But you're in charge. You should-" He shut his mouth quickly. As far as well-thought-out statements went, that one was pretty far down the list._

_ She laughed, and then grunted as one of the gauntlets came free without warning, spilling her onto the floor solidly. "Please don't tell me you were about to suggest that _I_ wear it? Honestly, Alistair, I can barely lift both the boots at the same time."_

_ "Well then maybe-"_

_ "Maybe who? Would you like Sten wearing the Warden-Commander armor? I think not."_

_ He gritted his teeth. Unfortunately, he agreed with her. They couldn't leave such a set of armor behind; Lorelai's pack-ratting would not allow it. And besides himself, Sten was the only other one capable of wearing it. He was _not,_ however, comfortable with this in the least._

_ "All right, but the first Wardens we see, I'm tearing it off and pretending I fight darkspawn in nothing but my underclothes."_

_ She looked up at him, her gaze a blend of determination and what? Was that pride? Was she…proud of him? For what? "Dear heart, if you're confident that you can remove this that fast, then get down here and help me."_

"Lift your arm, you fat nug lover!" Oghren snapped, banging a fist against Alistair's metal-encased torso. "Wake up in there!"

"Sorry." Alistair lifted his arm so that his fellow Warden could reach the fastenings down his side, managing to hide the sudden rush of anger at himself from his voice.

She may have been proud of him that day for some reason or another, but he was certain she would have nothing to be proud of if she could see him now. That first day when Sigrun and Oghren had showed up, he'd thought he'd had a handle on it. He'd come up with a plan, he'd sent the vultures to get their friends, he'd called a couple Silver Order members to join the mix. And then what? What had he done after that?

Nothing, that's what.

Oh, he'd handled the nobles in a detached sort of way, continuing with the business of palace and country. He'd deflected Mistress DeWitt's all-too-piercing questions. He'd avoided Eamon like the plague, in case he was not so adapt at deflecting the Arl. But that was about it.

Maker's breath, he hadn't even sent word to Fergus in Highever to let him know what had happened.

He snorted to himself in disgust. On the roof, watching the vultures disappear, he'd imagined he could call himself a King. Now he knew the truth: King wasn't something he could manage. Not without her.

_You just got confused. Happens to the best of us. You _can_ manage, you just picked the wrong mix._

He winced. The sound of her voice echoing through his consciousness was almost too much to bear, regardless of how comforting it was. If he closed his eyes, he could fool himself that she was right there next to him, instead of Maker only knew where. Knowing what she'd say, carrying her around in his head, was both a soothing balm to his jangled nerves…and a dagger twisting through his heart.

At any rate, he agreed. Not perhaps that he could manage being King, but that he'd _definitely _picked the wrong mix. Letting that cold, implacable persona he'd felt wash over him at Sigrun's news have complete control hadn't been wise. He'd mistakenly thought the best course of action would be to let King have the reins, while Husband and Lover were silenced in the its grip.

But in doing so, he'd lost the rage that would've pushed him to do the things that needed to be done. Without that anger, he'd been swallowed by his despair and worry. The practicality had left him with no driving force, and no _love_.

"There, finished." Oghren stumbled off the stool and dragged the boots over. The red-haired dwarf stopped for a second and stared at him. "Ancestor's balls, boy, you bring back memories lookin' like that!"

Alistair chuckled. "You're not going to cry, are you, Oghren? I'm not sure I could stand it if you did."

"Ah, shut your hole!" he growled good-naturedly, tossing the boots at him. "My tears are manly! The women can't help themselves when I let a few go. You should try it."

Nodding seriously, Alistair agreed, "You'll have to show me that some time."

"Huh, if you're lucky!"

Alistair shoved his foot into one of the boots, and gritted his teeth. He'd been right: saying the boots were painful would be an understatement. First thing he was going to do when this nightmare was over was hire someone whose sole job was to upkeep all the armor and weapons. What was the point of all this stuff if it was allowed to fall into disrepair?

When this was over… That was an alluring thought.

Well, if he was going to make it that far, he'd need a new cocktail of emotions. He had keep King up front, he didn't think he'd taken a total misstep with that. Husband had to be right behind it, though, fueling King. Change the cold to cold fire, twist the practicality to become ruthlessness. And Lover behind them both, keeping Husband's rage roaring with its own bellowing pain. That seemed appropriate. After all, he'd been Lover before he'd been either of the others.

He tried it out, letting the mix ooze through his mind and fill his body. Fury spiked through his bones, but it was leashed by purpose. Fear rimmed his thoughts in piercing light, but instead of debilitating him, it aided the anger, fanning the flames higher.

Yes, this would work. This would work _just fine._


	15. The Word of a Mabari

**Again, apologies for the huge gaps between my posts. I'm really trying to get on a better writing schedule. Bear with me, please! As always, thanks so much to those who review/favorite/alert :)  
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Nathaniel sank to his knees slowly, the mud feeling disgustingly thick beneath his weight. Jacob whined and nudged his shoulder, first in gentle comfort, then more insistently when the Warden didn't acknowledge him. The mabari's shoves finally pushed his companion over.

Nathaniel barely caught himself with an outstretched hand. He couldn't be bothered with something as mundane as not falling into the mud. Not when the flickers of light, of _civilization_, gleamed like trapped fireflies through the trees.

The tracks led toward those lights, led toward people. Andraste only knew what people, city or town or _whatever_ it was, but it didn't matter. If they were coming here, it meant…something. At the very least, it meant an end to this mindless, soul-sucking trudging he'd been doing. For a little while, at any rate. Whether this was their final destination or simply a stop was unknown. Hope burst out of his heart to canter about his body madly. In light of their deliberate circling for so long, one would think that this was the end.

Nathaniel felt the simultaneous urge to laugh and to weep. Perhaps both at the same time.

By his side, Jacob stared at him in mute appeal. He turned finally and grabbed the dog's face between his hands. "We've done it, boy," the Warden whispered fervently. "We've done it."

The dog opened his mouth to give Nathaniel the grin that only a canine could give, complete with his large tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. As quickly as the grin had materialized, though, it vanished again, and Jacob's ears swiveled into the darkness behind them. He yanked his face from Nathaniel's hands and stared into the woods.

Nathaniel muttered a curse under his breath and swung his bow off his shoulder, notching an arrow as quickly as his exhausted body would allow him. He strained his senses to the limit, trying to pierce the darkness. Who was it? _What_ was it? What had the dog heard?

Jacob took a few paces forward, his entire body tight. Even in the darkness, Nathaniel could see his nose twitching frantically, pulling scent out of the air, accessing knowledge the archer could never hope to understand.

The tension grew worse, and Nathaniel felt his shoulders start to twitch with the strain of keeping the bow taut. He couldn't keep this up much longer, but until Jacob relaxed…neither could he.

Just as the insane impulse to cry out a challenge to whatever was out there seized him, and his lungs swelled with the voice to do so, Jacob's short tail started wagging rapidly. The mabari grin came back, and the hound managed to plant his furiously wiggling back end on the ground.

Nathaniel blinked in shock. What in the name of the Maker-

"Lower your bow, son of Rendon Howe. I come in peace," an accented voice said quietly.

How did they know who he was? At any rate, whoever it was meant to provoke him, if they were addressing him in that way. It didn't put Nathaniel in a lowering-his-weapon kind of mood.

Jacob could barely contain himself. He inched forward without getting to his feet, maintaining his sitting position, dragging his body with his heavy front paws. He whined, but it was a sound of barely contained joy.

"Please, Howe. I fear Jacob may explode into tiny, furry bits if I do not come forward, which I am uncomfortable doing with your weapon drawn."

Nathaniel cursed again. He stared at the mabari's ecstatic form, wanting to trust in the dog's senses, but he feared his exhausted reactions would be horribly incapable of countering the owner of the voice if Jacob were making an error.

Laughing a bit helplessly, he lowered his bow. He was, after all, Fereldan. If he did not trust the mabari's word, he might as well leave the country.

"Thank you." A figure limped out of the gloom, their features slowly materializing in the faint light. Silvery hair, pointed ears, male, and a facial tattoo that would've had Sigrun cooing with appreciation. An elf, clearly, and one who looked a bit worse for the wear. Nathaniel managed to stifle a snort, since he was one to talk. He had little doubt he looked like a four-week-old carcass left in the sun to rot…and that was being generous.

Jacob gave a yip of recognition, but remained seated only through what looked to be the most supreme effort.

"Who are you?" demanded the Warden. "How do you know me?"

"Please," the elf chided, spreading his hands wide. "I must greet my friend, first. I would not think to insult him by ignoring him. I would think it would offend your Fereldan sensibilities if I did."

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, but jerked his head in assent.

The elf, until this moment focusing all his body language toward Nathaniel, turned to face Jacob. Spreading his arms wide, he grinned, "Come on, you filthy beast."

The war dog launched himself at the newcomer, his weight bearing him to the ground. The elf didn't seem to mind, laughing in quiet indulgence and enduring the vicious licking he was being subjected to with good grace. He finally pried himself out from under Jacob, rubbing the dog's head vigorously, and got to his feet with what looked like a bit of pain.

"Will you deign to answer my questions now?" Nathaniel snapped.

"Of course, of course, Grey Warden," the elf replied. "Let's see…what were they?"

"Who are you, and how do you know me?" Nathaniel reiterated tensely. Despite Jacob's enthusiasm for this elf, Nathaniel couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"Ah, yes." The elf's eyes narrowed. "And if, perhaps, I do not like your questions? If I were to counter with some of my own?"

Nathaniel raised his bow and pulled the string tight again. The fletching rested delicately against his cheek, trembling minutely with the strain he was yet again putting on his arms. "I have no taste for games, stranger. Speak your business…or I will kill you now and find out if I've made an error later."

Jacob whined desperately, swiveling his head back and forth between the two of them, completely at a loss for what he should do.

The elf's frame stiffened, and his fingers twitched. "You'll not want to do that, Howe. It would be a shame if all you've gone through were to go to waste, no?"

"Who are you?" Nathaniel demanded, and dug deep into his last reserves of strength to pull the bowstring back even further. The tension of it hummed next to his ear. Normally he found that sound beautiful, but at the moment, it seemed just as weary as he was. "I'll not ask again, elf. I lost my sense of humor months ago on this Maker-forsaken trek, and I don't plan on finding it again until I can look a particular person in the eyes and beg her forgiveness!" he shouted, for the moment forgetting the nearby lights.

The elf merely stared for a few moments. "A friend," he finally answered. "I come from Denerim, from Alistair and your Wardens."

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The information wasn't terribly specific; almost anyone could know it, really. But, isn't that what he'd told the others to do? To send someone after him? He eased down the tension of his family's bow, just a bit. "Fairly common information, wouldn't you say? The name of the King, the fact that I'm a Warden. You'll have to do better than that."

The mabari woofed quietly, and gave Nathaniel a stern glare.

"Look, boy, I know you like him, but he's toying with me. I don't appreciate it," Nathaniel explained.

Jacob huffed and turned his eyes to the elf, ears pricked forward.

"Fine, fine. As you wish," the elf grumbled. "You would like more proof? I have a message I'm to convey to you that should suffice."

"Which is?"

"Your Sigrun says you had better be taking excellent care of Jacob."

All the air left his lungs in a rush, and the bow came down without a second thought. His name? Infamous in noble circles. Sigrun's? Not a chance. He'd only know that if he'd-

"How is she?" Nathaniel asked when he had the breath to do so. Surely there were more important questions to be asking…and yet he couldn't seem to think of any.

The elf raised an eyebrow. "She is well, if tense. It appears that she has been elected leader of your motley band."

The Warden gave a short laugh. "Tense? I'd imagine so, if Oghren's still alive."

"I did not see him when I was there, but I assume he lives." The elf was smiling at him now, as if in some sort of victory.

"So, Sigrun's tense, Oghren lives, and I'll presume Anders is fine, as well." All the boneless relief that filled him disappeared as anxiety grabbed a handful of his guts and twisted. "And the King? Is he…?"

"Is he what?" The elf sneered.

Nathaniel swallowed. "Is he…all right?"

"As all right as one can expect, which is not at all." The elf waved his hands as if in surrender. "I have left him in capable hands, and he should be in better condition by the time we need him."

Swearing softly to himself, Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "Does he…hold me responsible?"

"No." The elf cocked his head to the side, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Should he?"

"I let her go off by herself." He squinted up at the other man in the darkness. "Did Sigrun fail to mention that?" Not waiting for a reply, he surged to his feet. "Did she think to spare me the judgment?"

"Perhaps she did. Have no fear, for _I_ certainly hold you accountable…if not the mastermind to the whole debacle."

"_What_?" Nathaniel stalked forward, and the distance separating them vanished. Jacob growled as in reproach, but the archer ignored him. "For being lax in my duties to the Queen of Ferelden, I am totally to blame." He poked the elf in his slender chest. "But to suggest that I am somehow behind my _own Commander's_ abduction-"

"It would be suitable punishment, no?" The silver-haired wrench grinned up at him. "For the woman who murdered your father and stole your family's arling. Of course, he'd murdered her family first, so I suppose turnabout is fair play." He stepped closer, their chests now pressed together. "Tell me, whoreson, did you know about your father's plan? Did you laugh with him as he talked of Cousland blood being spilled?"

Nathaniel blinked. It had been a long time since he'd even worried about _that_ being thrown in his face. Who would still need to bring that up five years later? All at once, knowledge came thundering down around his ears. Someone who'd never had the chance to spew venom about it in the first place, that's who. "Zevran Arainai. The Antivan assassin sent to the kill the Wardens by Loghain…and pardoned by the Commander when you begged for your life at her feet."

"See? You answered your own question without needing my help at all. There is hope for you yet."

Stepping backwards, Nathaniel shook his head. "A long way from Antiva, isn't it, Crow?"

"Yes, but Alistair requested and I came. He felt the sudden urge to be surrounded by _friends_. Can't imagine why."

"Funny, that, since my understanding was it took every ounce of persuasive skill the Commander had to keep the King from splitting your skull on the edge of his shield." What in the Maker's name did he think he was doing? This macho nonsense was completely irrelevant and detrimental as they wasted time. And yet he couldn't stop himself. "Trying to kill the woman he loves will make a man do strange things like that."

"Know the feeling from experience, Howe? Anyone ever tried to harm your lovely, dwarven girl in front of you?"

"My…what?" Nathaniel backed up a few more paces, for a moment completely shocked into silence. Did he mean Sigrun?

Jacob barked gruffly, leaning toward the assassin aggressively.

Zevran raised his hands in innocence. "He started it. You cannot expect me not to retaliate."

Impossible, and yet it looked for all the world like the mabari glared meaningfully.

"Fine, fine. Honestly, you are the worst kind of spoilsport. Do you force Lorelai and Alistair to be morose and quiet all the time? Perhaps make them walk about in black clothes of mourning all day long?"

Jacob woofed, and wagged his stump of a tail.

Zevran sighed, and made an elegant bow to Nathaniel. "I am finished, Howe, if you are."

Narrowing his eyes, the Warden fairly snarled, "Sigrun. Did you mean Sigrun when you said that?"

"I did," the elf answered, not straightening his bent form.

"Why?"

"When I laid my accusations of you at the King's feet, she was most passionate in your defense." He finally lifted his head, and his eyes sparkled wickedly in the starlight. "I assumed the pair of you were lovers."

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment, fists clenched tightly. "You're…direct, I'll give you that," he answered in a strangled tone.

"It is a gift," Zevran acknowledged with mock modest. "Do you deny it then, as well?" he added swiftly.

"Hard to do otherwise, when it's the truth!" Nathaniel laughed a bit hysterically. Perhaps the King _did_ blame him. After all, why else would he send someone like this Zevran? It was all he needed after these months of torture and guilt: needling about an imaginary love life. "I assure you, Antivan, you'll get no juicy gossip from me. There's nothing to tell. Sigrun isn't my lover."

"Ah, she spoke the truth. How refreshing." Zevran rose from his bow at last, and dusted invisible specks from the front of his leather armor. He cut his eyes to the Warden slyly, deliberately. "Am I to assume she is available then?"

"I did not say that," Nathaniel growled, even while his mind demanded to know what in the Maker's name he thought he was saying. The archer had no right to say that. Sigrun was a free woman, and able to bed whomever she pleased. She certainly wouldn't be happy to hear Nathaniel stating otherwise.

So why couldn't he bring himself to retract the rash statement? Why was he allowing the elf to believe it?

"I see." The assassin grinned spectacularly. "I feel you and I shall get along, Warden Howe."

"How do you figure?" Nathaniel barked. "Considering you think I've thought up this whole mess and all."

Zevran gave an elegant shrug. "Perhaps I have changed my mind. And besides, Jacob trusts you," he reached down to pat the mabari's head roughly, "and that should be good enough for me." The elf whistled piercingly, and, to Nathaniel's astonishment, a horse came out of the darkness. Clutching the pommel of its saddle with wicked black talons was a-

"Pay no mind to my feathered friend," Zevran said to the unasked question clearly scrawled across Nathaniel's face. "A gift from Lorelai. There is much to tell you, but it can all wait until morning. Let us find real beds to rest our weary heads upon." He gave the Warden a critical look. "It would appear that you have about reached the edge of your limits."

Nathaniel blew out a sigh. Whether it was one of relief, confusion, joy, suspicion, or some combination of the four, he didn't know. And frankly, he didn't care.


	16. Surrounded By Criminals

**This chapter's for Thessali, who harassed me via a review reply to get writing :P Sometimes we all just need a little kick :) Thanks for all the reviews/favs/alerts!  
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_"Nathaniel," she called, beckoning with an outstretched hand. "Come here, I've got something to tell you."_

_ He came to her, obedient as a mabari, mesmerized by the way her dark hair seemed to swallow the sun's rays, instead of reflecting them. Like the strands absorbed the shine, taking in the warmth and light. Stealing it. Keeping it._

_ "What is it?" he asked._

_ She placed her hands on her hips, her lips pulled into a grin of mischief. "Well you're too tall to tell a secret to!"_

_ "My apologies," Nathaniel answered as he felt his own mouth begin to smile, and bent his head down near hers. "Better?"_

_"Much."_

_ "So, what's the secret?"_

_ She leaned in close, and her warm breath across his ear sent his heart to thudding against his ribs. Her lips moved, and they too touched the oh-so-sensitive skin of his ear. "It's just that-" But instead of finishing her sentence, Nathaniel felt something hot and slick trail from his earlobe to his hairline. The sensation left him reeling, the urge to succumb to a delicious shiver almost unbearable._

_ "What-?"_

_ "Ssh," she scolded, "just relax…"_

_ Her tongue blazed its exquisite path from earlobe to hairline again._

_ "Sigrun," he whispered with lips he could barely feel, and turned to face her._

"Warden, while am I at loathe to interrupt you, especially after that mumbled name," said a voice filled with amusement, "I fear I must insist."

Nathaniel's eyes snapped open…and found himself face to face with Jacob. In the background, leaning against the fireplace, was Zevran. His delighted smile was enough to make the archer wish he could find a convenient hole to bury himself in.

The hound surged forward to lick the Warden again. "Enough," he grumbled, managing to grab the dog's head before he could succeed. He shoved Jacob away, not unkindly, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.

"How much did you hear?" asked Nathaniel, hot threads of embarrassment coiling around his intestines.

"Just her name," Zevran replied. "And never fear. You can count on me to keep my mouth shut about how you think she kisses like a mabari."

"She wasn't kissing-! Never mind," Nathaniel groaned and rubbed his face a few times before glaring at the elf. "How about you just keep the whole incident to yourself?"

"That can be arranged, as well." The former Crow spread his hands wide, and the blazing sunlight through the window glinted off his daggers. "For a price, of course."

"What price would that be?" Nathaniel may have only know Zevran Arainai for a brief amount of time thus far, but one thing he was already certain of was that it was easier to play along with his mind games for as long as you could take it.

"You tell her yourself."

"Tell her what?" Nathaniel demanded, narrowing his eyes. "That I _once_ had a random dream about her?"

Zevran blinked at him for a few moments, before beginning to chuckle to himself.

"Mind letting me in on the joke?"

The assassin finally got himself under control, and shook his head. "Apparently it is too soon for such revelations. Another time."

Sighing, Nathaniel pushed himself upright and looked out the window. To his astonishment, the sun was beginning to set. But that meant…

"You let me sleep the _entire day_?" he half-shouted in fury. "Are you mad?"

"You needed it," Zevran answered bluntly. "And you need much more. Unfortunately, you will not get it."

"I would've been fine!" Nathaniel argued. Their surroundings finally dawned on him, silencing the next part of his tirade. "Where are we?"

"The Doldrums. Strange name for an inn, if one were to seek my opinion." The elf peered at him. "How much of last night do you remember? Clearly, you haven't riddled me with arrows yet, so you know who _I_ am…but what of the rest?"

The Warden squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Everything was such a jumbled mess; it was hard to line it all up again. If anything of these passed horrific months had ever been in some semblance of order, that is. "Gwaren. We're in Gwaren."

"Excellent. It appears that we got you into a real bed just in time to keep your brains from turning to mush."

Nathaniel glared. "My mental capacity aside, we've wasted an entire day. They could be anywhere! They might have…left already!"

"Did you think I sat around and watched you sleep like some star-struck lover, Warden Howe?" the elf asked. "You are quite handsome, but my tastes are a bit different when it comes to men."

"Flattering," the archer grumbled.

"In any case, I have been busy." A sneer of self-disgust marred his smooth, comedic mask. "Not that it has done any good. All who I've spoken with have no knowledge of any such kidnapping. Not a woman fitting Lorelai's description, not a band of men. Nothing." Zevran chewed the inside of his cheek. "They cannot simply have vanished."

"Why not?" asked Nathaniel bitterly. "_I_ feel like I've been chasing smoke this whole time." He sighed deeply; these sulky thoughts were helping nothing. "I don't think they've vanished, I think they're here. Or at the very least, Gwaren is a staging point for the next phase. Why else would they have mentioned it to your girl in Lothering?"

Zevran tapped his chin. "She seemed genuine, but perhaps I'm simply losing my touch."

"Oh, I don't know. People tend to be honest to the knight in shining armor," Nathaniel pointed out. "Didn't think you were the hero type."

"Neither did I."

"Besides," Nathaniel continued, stressing the real reason he was confident in the prostitute's tip, "I was the one following their tracks. We know _I'm_ right. The fact that we both ended up at the same place just confirms her information."

"You _did_ pay attention last night." Zevran batted his eyelashes extravagantly. "Makes me all a-flutter."

"Yes, well, fluttering aside…"

"Of course." Zevran pushed away from the fireplace and gestured toward the door with his head. "There's plenty of daylight left. Perhaps you will succeed where I have failed."

"Have you sent the vulture back to Denerim yet?" Nathaniel questioned as he forced himself out of the bed.

"To tell Alistair what?" asked Zevran, an eyebrow arched with a bit of contempt. "'Come to Gwaren…for no reason that we can see'? No. We'll wait until we have something substantial before we release the love-struck, furious King, hmm?"

"Good point." Nathaniel reached for one of his boots.

"I took the liberty of getting you some new clothes while I was out and about. Yours are," the assassin leveled a critical look at Nathaniel attire, "looking a bit worse for wear."

Nathaniel laughed. "Can't imagine why."

"Nor can I. As much as I'd like to stay and watch," he washed his fluid gaze up and down the archer's body, causing Nathaniel's ears to burn, "I'll leave you be. Meet me downstairs in the dining area." The elf whistled sharply, and Jacob followed him dutifully out the door.

The Warden sighed with relief, then started to change out of his tattered clothes. The fact that Zevran hadn't found anything out during the entire time Nathaniel was borderline unconscious was growing a knot of fear in his stomach.

Suppose their theories were all mistaken? Suppose they'd already moved her, taken her elsewhere? If he were them, he certainly wouldn't want to stay in one place for too long. And Maker only knew how far ahead of him they'd been. Maybe they had stayed in Gwaren for a significant amount of time, but perhaps that was a month ago.

Bah! Such thoughts would get him nowhere. Whether they were here or had left already, Nathaniel still needed to find _someone_ who had seen them. Otherwise this was the end of the trail…and he couldn't abide that thought.

He smoothed his new clothes into place. At least the elf had managed to get clothes that fit him. Nathaniel had a sudden, disconcerting vision of Zevran standing over him while he slept, taking the Grey Warden's measurements with his eyes.

Yes, definitely a disturbing line of thought. Something to never think of again. Along with mistaking Jacob's tongue for dream-Sigrun's tongue. Also never thinking about that again.

Maybe just think about the part before that, when her lips had been against his ear.

Shaking his head at himself, he shoved his feet into his boots and left the room.

The dining area was full of people, and Nathaniel felt a sudden urge to hide, like he was terribly exposed. Months with no human contact will do that do someone, he supposed. He scanned the masses quickly, spotting Zevran's silver hair almost immediately.

"Well, if I ever feel that I am no longer up to being an assassin, I think I shall consider a career in fashion," Zevran commented after Nathaniel had finally made it through the inn's patrons. "He looks quite dashing, doesn't he, Jacob?"

The mabari barked happily in agreement.

Nathaniel sighed. He never thought he miss having no one to talk to but the dog. "_Anyway_, do you want to split up or-"

Zevran lifted his hand sharply, cutting off the Warden's next words. The elf jerked his head over his left shoulder, his eyes narrowing with concentration.

Frowning, Nathaniel sought the source of Zevran's focus. At first, he couldn't filter anything out of the garbled noise of so many voices talking over one another, but then he heard it. His frown deepened.

"…and so she, a daughter of Highever no less, asked if there was any _other_ way I'd teach her my dueling techniques. She batted her eyelashes oh-so-prettily. How was I supposed to refuse such an offer? And with her strapping lad, soon to be King, as part of the bargain! He, of course, took a bit more convincing, but he saw our way in the end…"

Uproarious laughter drowned out the rest of the sentence, but Nathaniel didn't need to hear the rest. He tried to wrap his mind around the implications, and then remembered his earlier sentiments about trying to avoid disturbing mental images.

Zevran, however, had developed a nasty, entirely-too-knowing grin. He gestured for Nathaniel to follow, and then shoved his way between the shoulders of two burly men with a flourish.

"My darling," he said, bowing before a striking woman with thick auburn hair, "you know better than to be telling such unbecoming lies."

"Zev!" the woman exclaimed. She sat at a long wooden table, surrounded by a group of men who looked like they hadn't seen the term "respectable" in quite some time. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"Now, now, I'll be asking the questions, since you see fit to color your past conquests with the paint of untruths."

She had the grace to blush. "Ah, Zevran! You embarrass me in front of my men," she demurred, twisting a lock of hair around one of her fingers. Waving a pale hand at the elf, she shrugged with a touch of disdain as she looked at her comrades. "He was not even there, pay him no mind."

"Perhaps no, but I heard about it in detail around our campfire that night," the former Crow countered. "She bested you at a game of cards. Do not deny it."

"He's simply jealous," she told the men in a loud whisper. "Pity, it's such an ugly emotion."

As the pair bantered back and forth, Nathaniel grew more and more confused. Was Zevran telling the truth, or was the woman? Why would the elf lie…unless to spare the Commander's reputation. Did that mean the woman told the truth? Had the Commander – and the King – actually…

He pulled himself short of actually thinking the entire thought. Previous sentiments about disturbing things and all that.

Before he could think any more, or less, on the subject, Jacob let out a vibrating growl by his side. Nathaniel looked down, touching the dog's head. "What is it?"

The warhound let out a booming bark just as someone gave a slurred, belligerent shout. Nathaniel's head snapped up, his hand twitching to the daggers on his belt, and he winced as one drunken man shoved another straight onto the table where Zevran's lady friend sat.

She jumped to her feet swiftly, as did her men, and blades were suddenly in her hands. The fierce snarl on her face belied her earlier, risqué demeanor as she surveyed the brawling men before her with all the anger of a startled wild cat. Jacob barked wildly, lunging slightly forward with each angry sound. One of the men staggered upright, looked around in bleary-eyed confusion for a moment, then swung a wild punch at someone completely different than the man he'd originally been attacking.

What had begun as fisticuffs elevated into an all-out brawl in mere seconds.

"Oh, for the Maker's sake," Nathaniel groaned, now holding on to Jacob's collar with all the strength he had. If he let go, there'd be a room full of people missing their throats, if the dog's current state was any indication.

"Isabela!" he heard Zevran shout. "Come on!"

"But-!" she protested as he grabbed her arm.

"Your crew are grown men, yes? They can take care of themselves!"

She looked mutinous for a moment, then sheathed her blades.

Zevran pushed himself to Nathaniel's side. "It's time we weren't here. I don't like the look of this."

"On that we can agree!" the Warden yelled back. He hauled the mabari forcefully backwards, and nearly ended up with the dog in his lap. "Jacob, let's go!"

Like a forest fire, the confusion and fighting spread, turning the dining area into a dangerous arena before Nathaniel's eyes. He followed Zevran, who was dragging the woman (whose name was apparently Isabela) behind him. Nathaniel maintained his grip on Jacob's collar by a supreme effort as they were jostled through the masses.

In front of him, someone barreled into Isabela with such force that she was knocked off her feet, her arm ripped from Zevran's grasp. Nathaniel dropped down immediately, but let go of Jacob in the process. The mabari became a snarling mass of fur and teeth, causing even the most inebriated of the fighters to muster up enough common sense to back away from his snapping jaws.

Nathaniel managed to haul the man who'd fallen on top of Isabela off by his hair. Tossing him unceremoniously to the side, the Warden helped her to her feet.

"All right?" he asked.

"Never better," she quipped, her face flushed with adrenaline and…excitement?

Nathaniel swore. Was she _enjoying_ this?

"Come along," Zevran scolded, as if they were children lackadaisical about their chores. Denying his calm tone, he grabbed Isabela tightly and darted out a nearby door. Resuming his iron grip on Jacob's collar, Nathaniel quickly followed.

He tripped and landed hard on the alley's cobblestones. His fall left Jacob spinning off balance, still barking demonically. Zevran leapt forward and slammed the door shut to head off Jacob's attempt to reenter the inn.

Breathless laughter made Nathaniel crane his head upside down to see Isabela leaning against the opposing building's wall, arms wrapped around her midsection as she shook with glee. "That a typical evening for you?" he gasped out, still lying on his back.

"It used to be," she said, grinning widely.

"Isabela, meet Nathaniel Howe, a Grey Warden," Zevran announced, speaking like they'd just stepped into his foyer. "Warden Howe, this is Isabela, captain of _The Siren's Call_ and-"

"-pirate Queen to boot," she finished for the elf. Reaching down, she helped Nathaniel to his feet.

"Pirate?" he echoed. Andraste help him, when would the deluge of criminal companions stop?

"Indeed I am." Her smug grin faded, and she absently rubbed at her leather tunic.

"Did that rough and tumble tackle injure you? As I recall, you've been taken down much rougher than that with _hardly_ a complaint," Zevran commented, winking.

Nathaniel was not fooled one bit. This former Crow may feign cold indifference, but his heart was not made of stone. His bawdy remark couldn't completely hide his concern.

"No, I'm not hurt, I just-" She frowned, then dug her fingers into one of the many straps that crisscrossed her tunic. Pulling slowly, Isabela's fingers reemerged clutching a scrap of paper. "This is not mine," she said quietly, eyes burning a hole in the offending paper.

"Well, well, do not keep us in suspense. What tales does it tell?" Zevran urged, waving his hands.

Again, Nathaniel wasn't fooled. Zevran was extremely interested in the paper. And, the archer found, so was he. Perhaps that brawl had not been so spontaneous… What had the man who'd tackled Isabela looked like? Try as he might, he couldn't remember anything other that his longish hair. Damn!

Isabela read it, and her eyes grew hard in the last rays of the sun. "Zev, I don't understand…" She thrust the paper at him, like it was a foul thing he needed to take off her hands. He reached to take it, but then her eyes suddenly widened and she twitched it away from him. "But perhaps I _do_ understand. Your appearance, and in the company of a Warden no less, makes me wish I didn't."

"Give it to me, Isabela," the assassin demanded.

With poor grace, she practically threw it at him. The elf gestured to Nathaniel impatiently, and the son of Rendon Howe came to read over the other man's shoulder.

_I'm sorry for the brawl, but I knew no other way to get this to you unsuspected. I heard your boasting, and I pray to the Maker it is not false, for I have no where else to turn. I've no time, nor can I help you, but someone _must_ know. I beg Andraste that you have enough goodness in you to do the right thing. The daughter of Highever of whom you speak has been taken to the golden island._

The world swam in front of Nathaniel's eyes as his chest filled with cold panic. He supposed he shouldn't be panicking; after all, this meant they were right to be here. But seeing this hastily-scrawled note made the whole horrific nightmare all the more _real._ Before, he'd been chasing a trail. Of course, he knew what the trail _was_ and what it _meant_. But still, just a trail.

This note brought the culmination of that trail to a gut-wrenching reality Nathaniel hadn't realized he wasn't prepared for.

"Howe!" Zevran snapped.

He shook himself hard. Now was not the time for a personal crisis. "Sorry," he muttered, getting the impression that Zevran had called his name several times.

Giving him a meaningful glare, the elf turned to the glowering Isabela. "My darling captain, what does this mean?"

Isabela's expression grew, if possible, even more hostile. "You're not suggesting that _I_ know anything about-"

"Clearly you do," Zevran interrupted. "Whoever thought to give this to you intended for you to understand it."

"Where's the golden island?" Nathaniel tried before they turned it into a shouting match.

"It's where my comrades and I used to hide objects that we acquired," she spat, "before those mercenaries arrived and drove us off!"

"What mercenaries? When?" Now Nathaniel had to keep himself from shouting.

"Months ago, and I don't know who they are!" Isabela snarled. "My crew and I arrived one day and they were just _there_. Told us in no uncertain terms that the island belonged to them, and that we were no longer welcome."

"Who does it actually belong to?" the former Crow asked.

"No one. It's abandoned, that's why we used it!" Isabela pointed a finger into the elf's chest. "Don't you dare think for one minute that I have anything to do with…with…whatever's going on with the Queen! You know I'm not like that, Zev!"

Nathaniel tensed. Another moment of faith for the assassin, it seemed. It was not up to the Warden to trust Isabela or not. He'd known her for a grand total of a few minutes. It was up to Zevran.

The Commander, and the King, trusted Zevran. So, Nathaniel would trust him…and his judgment of the self-proclaimed pirate Queen.

The elf took a deep breath. "Yes, of course, Isabela. I know you do not have anything to do with this. You are many interesting things, but a traitor is not one of them." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How much do you know about these men? Their plans?"

Her eyes spit flares of vengeance. "Their plans? Nothing. But all else…I know _everything_. Men, weapons, the lot. I can take you to the island, as well. I want to see those blackguards twist for thinking they can push me around!"

"Oh, they shall twist," Zevran assured her, "but for something much worse than daring to offend your loveliness."


	17. The Practice Room

**I spent my Halloween evening scaring myself with how many typos and errors and removed page breaks there were in Find The Way. I think I got them all (unlikely) and I resubmitted all the fixed chapters. Sooooo, if you were ever interested in reading it, it should make more sense now :)**

**Thanks, as always, to everyone who favorites/alerts/reviews!****  
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Sigrun half-collapsed next to where Leliana leaned casually against the wall, her armor clattering. "Remember when you were telling us about the King? About how we wouldn't know who he was until we saw him on the battlefield?" she managed around gasping breaths.

"Yes?" Leliana replied innocently.

"I don't think I'll need to wait until then to know who he is."

Leliana laughed indulgently before a resounding crash brought her attention back to the _educational_ display going on in front of her. "Oh, Oghren," she whispered affectionately under her breath as the dwarf staggered back to his feet. The bard shifted her gaze to the other exhausted dwarf beside her. "You can always let him tackle Alistair one-on-one for a while. He'll continue until our dear former Chantry lad knocks him unconscious."

Sigrun removed her horned helm and attempted to wipe the sweat off her face. "I think I'll do that…for a bit."

The Orlesian laughed again, then more noise had her watching the center of the room again. This time, instead of the clamor of an armored dwarf behind knocked to the ground, it was a bellowing war cry.

Oghren, keeping his feet this time, grinned maniacally at Alistair and swung his axe in wide arc. "Come on, boy, you've got more in you than that!"

Snarling inarticulately, Alistair charged forward.

"Was that…a smart move?" Sigrun asked, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"No. No, it wasn't," Leliana answered, wincing as Alistair's shield smashed into Oghren with enough force to make the dwarf shake his head to clear, she assumed, the deafening ringing that was in his ears.

"And yet he's still laughing," the former legionnaire marveled.

"He would," the redhead snorted. As much as she enjoyed the spectacle, it was about time to call for a break. Alistair wouldn't appreciate it, but he would listen. He'd pushed himself enough for the moment. And though Oghren would never say it, he could probably use a second to breathe, as well. "Hold!" she called out, raising her hand and stepping forward.

Alistair froze, the authority in her voice stopping him on a base, templar-trained level. Oghren weaved drunkenly for a moment at the sudden halt, but recovered himself enough to hook the back of Alistair's boot with his axe blade and yank the man off his feet.

"Oghren!" Sigrun shouted disapprovingly over the racket of clanking armor.

He chuckled in satisfaction. "Ah, he'll live. Isn't that right, Chantry boy?"

Leliana rolled her eyes, because that was what Oghren wanted her to do, then she pointed imperiously to a corner of the practice room. "Break now," she said sweetly.

"Oh, yes, ma'am," Oghren said, bowing. "Feel free to keep ordering me around. I like it!"

"Of course you do," she replied blithely before turning to check on the fallen King. "Everything all right down there?"

"How is it that he can even make the word 'ma'am' sound perverted?" Alistair asked her, staring the ceiling.

"A rare talent, perhaps," she suggested sagely. "Need some help getting up?"

"No, I'm all right down here for a minute. The ceiling's actually quite lovely. Never have spent much time on my back in here."

"Oh. I would've _surely_ thought your bloodthirsty Queen would have made certain that this, of all rooms, was checked off the list," Leliana said, putting as much bewilderment in her voice as she could.

"List?" He craned his neck to look at her. "What list?"

"You know, the _list_," she whispered loudly.

"No, I don't," he whispered, just as loudly. He pushed himself upright.

"You know," she admonished, reaching down to rap her knuckles against his breastplate, "the list of every room in the palace." She brightened suddenly, like an idea had miraculously occurred to her. "Unless of course your comment about the ceiling simply meant that _you_ were on top. Yes, that must be it."

Amber eyes flew wide in shock, and Alistair dropped himself back to the floor in another clatter of armor. "Maker's _breath_! I- You're…you're…incorrigible!"

"So some have said."

"What have I done to deserve such torture!" he lamented, covered his face with gauntleted hands.

Her laughter pealing as merrily as a bell, the bard clapped her hands together delightfully. "Oh, you are such a sweet friend to go to such lengths to entertain me! What a darling man!"

"Yes, that's what I'm doing. Not having a mild heart attack or anything like that."

"Of course not. Now, let's get up, hmm?" Placing her petite hand in his larger, metal-encased one, she made of a show of pulling with her all her strength. "Come now, I'll need a bit of effort on your part."

"Can't. You've killed me with your bedroom talk."

"I find that _highly_ unlikely, Grey Warden. You have faced far more fearsome foes than my frank sensuality."

"Not so sure about that," he muttered darkly, but got to his feet anyway.

"There! Much better." Leliana stared into his face critically. "How are you feeling?" she asked in a quieter tone, meant just for him to hear, instead of the show she'd just put on for the rest in the room.

"Good, I guess," he answered lamely, rolling his shoulders and avoiding her eyes.

"Well you've resumed eating and sleeping like a regular person, so you'll not hear any complaints from me." She ran her gaze over him again. "You're putting some of your weight back on, your face isn't looking quite so cadaverous. You _look_ good, Alistair," she assured him.

"If you say so."

"Well, I'd say we need a considerable break at the moment. Sigrun's about had it for the day, and Oghren…" she trailed off, raising an eyebrow as the dwarf downed a mug of ale in one go. "Let's just say I don't trust his body's pain sensors to keep him alive, hmm?"

"How long of a break?" he demanded, his eyes going a bit wild. "I don't want to."

"You could use a break, too, darling," she advised, trying to get him to come to the conclusion himself. Ever since these sessions had started, she'd had to stop every one before her former companion had exhausted his newly-regained energy.

"Can't we find some of the guards to-" he begged, ignoring her comment.

Apparently, today was not to be any different.

"To what?" Leliana asked. "To terrify? To accidentally kill?"

He shrugged uncomfortably, but still his eyes pleaded with her like those of an abandoned puppy.

"Alistair, don't you make those eyes at me," she said sternly. "You _will_ gravely injure someone other than a Grey Warden-"

"What's all this lounging about? I thought mighty Grey Wardens sparred day and night!" called Aednat as she strolled into the practice room.

"Perhaps they need their afternoon nap," Aideen suggested, coming in on her friend's heels.

Alistair's eyes flashed with unholy glee, and Leliana exercised all her effort to hold in a sigh. The Twins seemed to take just as much delight in throwing themselves at Alistair as Oghren did. And with there being two of them, they had infinitely more success…and were an added challenge to the pent-up ex-templar-to-be besides.

Well, there was nothing for it now. She just hoped he didn't fight until he dropped. Waving her hand like a mother telling her child to play, she backpedaled out of the center.

"Brilliant," Aednat grinned, snatching a shield off the nearest wall and drawing her sword.

"Hope you're not _too _tired, Your Majesty," Aideen added with mock concern as her broadsword flashed in torchlight.

Leliana resumed her position on the wall beside a much-recovered Sigrun as Alistair retorted, "Plenty of spirit left to deal with you two. No worries."

"He all right?" asked Sigrun.

"Yes," the Orlesian answered. "He just has no where to put his anger right now. Once we're on the move, things will be better. I just hope Zevran and Nathaniel find something soon, before Alistair takes out everyone capable of handling his 'sparring'."

Worry lines creased Sigrun's eyes. "You think they've met up?"

"The boys?" Leliana made sure the best laugh she had came passed her lips. "Most certainly. And I'm also certain that Zev's presence is making it much easier for Nathaniel." _At least physically_, she added wickedly in her own head.

"Good," Sigrun said, watching as Aideen danced out of reach of Alistair's sword. "He hates being alone," she added after a few moments, almost to herself.

"Indeed?" pressed Leliana quietly.

"Yes. He's not good at it. He thinks too much, he can't just…" the dwarf paused, searching for a word, "_be_."

"Some men are like that," the bard said, still quiet. If Sigrun had not noticed she was having this conversation out loud, Leliana wasn't about to point that out.

"I know he blames himself for what happened to the Commander." Sigrun snorted, "He's probably spent the entire time beating himself up over it."

"Probably."

Sigrun's eyes tightened, and her worry lines creased deeper. "When we find him, I'm going to-"

"To find the lot of you, one just need to follow the ridiculously loud sounds of combat," Anders interrupted cheerfully, coming up next to them.

Again, Leliana held back a sigh. Well, she certainly hoped Zevran's matchmaking skills were being put to better use than _hers_. "Why, ser mage, you know that to find _me_ you need only to follow your heart."

"Well, yes, of course. If I were deaf, that would be my next course of action," he said, winking at her.

The Orlesian beamed at him. _And perhaps your matchmaking skills are failing because you've been otherwise occupied_, her inner voice sniped. She ignored it. She was enjoying Anders a _great_ deal. Oh, of course, they had done nothing more than flirt so outrageously that often Alistair or Sigrun excused themselves from the pair's presence, either laughing hard enough to break ribs or looking decidedly green.

He'd warmed up to her eventually, the blushing and the stammering fading until they were almost nonexistent. She sort of missed them occasionally, but she could always manage to get them to show up if she was particularly…honest.

Zevran would probably be shocked speechless to find that she'd yet to lay an inappropriate hand on her blond mage. Then he would most likely nod gravely when she reminded him that foreplay came in all kinds of variations.

"I thought you disliked being nearby when the King was waving his templar skills about," Sigrun smirked. "Thought it made the mage nervous."

"Oh, it does," he assured her, "but you ladies have a received a letter."

"From who?" the former legionnaire asked sharply. "For _both_ of us?"

"From Varel," Anders said, before smiling with mischief. "I'm not sure the poor man is aware as to which of you lovely ladies is in charge. In an effort not to offend, he addressed it to you both."

"Well, wasn't that nice of him?" Leliana said brightly, snatching the letter from him. "Come, come, my co-leader. Let's read together, shall we?" Her fingers snapped the seal quickly, and she bent down to share the letter with the woman beside her.

_Greetings, my ladies. I trust you have things well in hand, and I also trust that if you have any need of me, or any of my resources, that you will not hesitate to ask. Dworkin is offering explosives, but… I don't think you really want those. And rest assured, I have kept the truth to myself, but everyone in Vigil's Keep is aware that _something _is amiss. They are, after all, not stupid._

_ Which brings me to my real reason for writing. Part of the reason all inhabitants of the Keep are on edge is because once Anders told me what had happened, I placed the Keep under lock down. No one has been allowed in or out for these past months. I am not ashamed to say I have lost many nights of sleep, wondering how these traitors could've known the Commander's whereabouts so precisely. My men have been systematically investigating every single person inside this Keep, though it hurt my heart to think of anyone we knew betraying the Commander in such a way._

_ There I go, rambling again. I promise you, my ladies, that I shall get to the point. As I am writing this, my men are removing the body of one of the traders who frequent Vigil's Keep. He hanged himself last night, apparently feeling our net beginning to close around him. Among his things we found correspondence from his cohorts. Alas, they do not give any detail to the 'why' of this crime, just pressure for information. I will not begin to speculate as to why he was told to stay after he sent them the information regarding the Commander's latest trip, but it matters little now._

_ I hope you both find peace of mind in knowing that the culprit who enabled this fiasco has, at least, been identified, if not brought to the justice we all wish he could face._

_ May Andraste guide and keep you,_

_ Seneschal Varel_

Leliana closed her eyes briefly and finally allowed herself to sigh. She hadn't even bothered to hope that they'd be able to find the leak. What with she and Zevran getting here when they did, and everyone more concerned with actually finding Lorelai (as they should've been), the window for that opportunity seemed lost.

When she finally met this Seneschal, she vowed to kiss him straight on the lips. If he happened to be married, his wife would simply have to forgive her.

"Leliana? Is everything all right?" Anders asked. "The suspense is killing me…and now you've gone all pale."

"Varel found the man who leaked where the Commander was going to be," Sigrun answered numbly. "One of the traders at Vigil's Keep."

Anders swore so viscously it brought a rush of color to even Leliana's cheeks. "My _word_, ser mage," she gasped, feigning shock. "Such language!"

"Learned that one from a templar," he said tightly. "The things you overhear while incarcerated…"

"Should we tell the King?" Sigrun asked, flexing her legs in sympathy as Aednat caught him across the back of his knee with her shield.

"Not now," Leliana answered hurriedly. "Maybe once we get on the road-"

A page burst into the room, and flinched in shock at the vicious battle going on before him. For a moment, his mouth hung open in slack-jawed amazement as he stood frozen in place.

"Come now, lad!" Leliana called as a chill ran down her spine. "Over here!"

Jumping like he'd heard an explosion, the boy hurried over. Cheeks flaring red, he bowed deeply and mumbled. "From the roof, my lady, two messages. The King said-"

"Never mind what the King said," the bard assured him as gently as possible. "I'll take care of it. Go on now."

Gratefully, he surrendered the letter and scurried from the room.

"Two?" Sigrun's eyes gleamed joyfully. "Two!"

Leliana ignored her and tore the first one open. "Maker preserve us," she breathed, only just preventing herself from convulsively crushing the note in relief. "Sten is coming."

"The _qunari_?" Anders pried the message out of her hand to read it himself. "That's encouraging, and yet somehow _terrifying_ all at the same time…"

The next message shredded open even faster than the first. Usually a master of her own emotions, Leliana suddenly found herself on the edge of tears. Putting on a happy face for everyone around you will do that to a girl.

This time, she couldn't keep her muscles from tightening, crumpling the paper in one, swift movement. Gritting her teeth, she consciously relaxed her fingers and pushed her tears to the farthest corner of her mind. Perhaps there would be time for that later.

"Alistair!" she called, and was impressed with how even her voice sounded.

Apparently she shouldn't have been _too_ impressed with herself. Something, her tone perhaps, gave her away enough that all three combatants wrenched themselves to a stop. The room, so deafening earlier, could now be a place where infants were rocked to sleep.

His amber stare robbed her of speech, and for a moment she could do nothing but hold up the wrinkled piece of paper. Forcing as much cheerful bravado into her voice as she could, she said, "I don't care what you tell Mistress DeWitt and Arl Eamon, but you're going to have to come up with something."


	18. The Spoils of War

**My apologies, dear readers. This chapter was almost complete for a while, but my beta thought that _someone_ needed to talk more...and it took me a while to figure out what that someone needed to say :P**

**Your prayers to Andraste and the Maker for answers have been, well, answered :)  
**

* * *

Lorelai paced in the dank cargo hold of the ship, kneading her fists into her lower back. The constant sound of her chains dragging against the dirty floorboards was going to slowly drive her mad, while the pitching and yawing of the vessel sought to toss her to her knees every now and then.

At least she could blame her recurring vomiting on being seasick.

She'd take this vessel headed to Maker-only-knew-where over her last location any day.

That pitch-black basement, shut away from everything. People, sunlight, fresh air, all things that, by the end, felt like a forgotten dream. A secure place for them to keep her while they'd waited for their ship to arrive. Water had dripped from the ceiling, randomly striking her in the head no matter what new position she moved to. An elaborate form of torture perhaps.

She'd wondered if the sections of the Deep Roads she'd eventually banish herself to would be this dark, this stifling.

Despite the daily deliveries of the drug-laced food, Lorelai never saw anyone. The plates were passed beneath a slot under the door. No talking, no touching. Sitting in the blackness, it had seemed like she'd been forgotten…like she'd _become_ the darkness, and that she would vanish with the night when the sun broke the horizon.

Looking back, she may have gone a little mad.

With no light to guide her, time had become meaningless.

Then _he'd_ returned. In a twisted way, she'd almost been glad to see him. To see _anyone_. He'd forced her to eat a bowl of disgusting porridge. The smoke of the drug had not rolled over her mind so much as it suffocated it. Definitely stronger than the regular dose. The Grey Warden had had a vague sensation of collapsing into his waiting arms, and then all had been lost.

She'd awakened here, in the bowels of a ship, chained to the walls.

At least she could see now. At least she saw the men when they brought her the food. At least _he_ came and spoke with her every now and then. Of course it was only to mock oh-so-politely…but at least it was a human voice.

Sudden heat dashed down her lips, dripping off her chin. Startled, she hastily wiped at her lower face. She pulled her hand back, and glared at her blood-stained fingers. With a growl of frustration, she pinched just below the bridge of her nose. Damned nosebleeds. No expert on either subject, Lorelai wasn't sure if it was a symptom of being a captive or of being pregnant. Either way, it was a nuisance.

Heavy footfalls. Someone was coming.

Scrambling to her hands and knees, she backed herself against the hull, pulling her knees up quickly to hide her protruding stomach. It didn't seem all that noticeable to her, but she was taking no chances, since against all odds she was still miraculously pregnant.

He descended the stairs and approached her lowly corner. Bending from the waist, he gave her one of the courtliest bows she'd ever seen…marred only by his condescending grin. "I trust you're enjoying the voyage so far, my lady?" He bent his head, and examined her closer. "My, my, my. Where has that blood come from? Not hurting ourselves, are we?"

Her lip curled in a silent snarl, a base reaction of fear and anger. After that endless exile in the basement, it felt like layers of her being had been scraped away. Queen was long gone, Warden-Commander shortly after that, though Warden was still just barely there. The Cousland girl with the slick, persuasive voice? Buried until such a time as she would be useful. Wife had faded, paled, bleeding away into Lover. There were few things left. Those that were, however, were strong. Lover. Woman. Mother. All three primal, all three dangerous.

"In a quiet mood today, I see. That's good, since it's time you were told what's going on." He kicked an errant crate a bit closer, and sat down. "Though I'm not sure you will believe me, I _am_ sorry for the need to have kept you in the dark for so long. It seemed the best course of action."

Lorelai tilted her head to the side, and imagined sliding a dagger through his heart.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning, before the Blight…and before _your_ actions that led us down the path we find ourselves on at the moment." He sighed and shook his black-and-gray hair out of his face. "My name is Grady, and my surname is unimportant," he added sternly, as if she'd asked him for it. "I was captain of Loghain's home guard at Gwaren for many years."

Her eyes narrowed, her interest piqued. The archer managed to stop the colorful images dancing through her head of blood pouring down…Grady's body. She disliked that he had told her his name, given himself an identity. It made him more familiar, when what she wanted was distance.

But his name aside… Captain of the guard? He had told her Loghain was a fool once. Not usually the opinion one had of their teryn.

"Loghain and I had grown close during the rebellion, hence my subsequent elevation to my position. We remained close, and our lives paralleled each other nicely over the years. We married around the same time, and our wives bore us children relatively close in age." He stopped, and bowed his head. "And our wives were lost to us barely months apart."

Rage bit down Lorelai's nerve endings, and Lover growled through her mind like a beast in the bushes. Here he sat before her, a widower, knowing full well what it was like to lose a wife. And yet he would put another man through a similar torture.

"Those were dark days, for both of us. We helped each other, and our children helped us both. Anora was like a ray of the purest light, and my boy, well," he rubbed his cheek ruefully, and grinned at her, "he never failed to distract us with mischief."

Definitely not the words of someone who thought Loghain a fool. Her mind twitched sluggishly, like a hibernating bear.

"Well, grief faded, as it does, and life returned to normal as best it could." Grady's eyes lost focus as he stared off into nothing. "I watched that ray of light strengthen and grow into the most beautiful young woman. Sharp, ambitious, poised." He grinned suddenly. "You know, at meal times, she used to drill the guards on duty about etiquette. If they answered wrong, she'd sigh and tell them they'd never land wives that way." Chuckling, he rubbed his chin, the grin softening to a small smile.

Lorelai's brain kicked again, harder, reflexively. Why? About what? Instinct knew something reason couldn't understand yet.

"And when the noblemen's sons came to court her, bah!" He waved his hands in theatrical dismissal. "They all disgusted her. As they should've, they were all beneath her. But Loghain kept bringing them in. One after another." Green eyes, gone so fuzzy in pleasant memory, suddenly narrowed sharply. "Pushing her to marry, pushing for an heir," he grumbled.

The smile returned, banished by the rise of another, apparently happier, memory. "After one particularly trying day, when she'd been forced to be on display like some...piece of livestock, she asked me if I'd throw the lot of them in the dungeon!" Grady laughed uproariously, like it was some hilarious joke, but then he sobered. "Little did I know the real reason for her distaste for her suitors. She had much bigger plans for herself.

"She set her eyes much higher than the fools paraded before her. She aimed for the crown. Aimed and won, but even _he_ was beneath her." His face waxed into fanaticism. "_None_ were good enough." As quick as it had risen, the crazed look faded, and he looked at Lorelai pointedly, emerald eyes burning. "I'm sure you know what that's like. Reaching for power, angling for a throne. It seems you're quite the expert."

She sat up straighter, lifted her chin. Her lip curled again, that animalistic reaction showing itself without conscious effort. Even as her body responded on its own, her mind spiraled in a hundred different ways, laboriously chasing the hidden meaning of his words.

Grady rose to his feet, towering over her. Pointing a finger at her fiercely, he barked, "And here we are now. You have no one to blame for your predicament but yourself, arlessa. If you could've just kept your ambitions smaller, not reached quite so high-" He cut himself off, grinding his teeth together. With a deep breath, he said with much more control, "You hold a position not rightfully yours. You and your bastard husband are thieves, and I intend to rectify that situation.

"When we reach our destination, we'll prepare a message to your husband stating our demands." Spreading his hands wide, he smiled gently, as if granting a great mercy. "I am not a monster, my lady. I respect you as a daughter of the great Cousland family line and as a Grey Warden. I do not ask much, only that you and your husband relinquish the throne of Ferelden to its rightful owner: Queen Anora.

"You will both be unharmed, but you must leave the country afterwards, and never return. Do I make myself clear?"

One, last shred of common sense screamed, and that was all that kept Lorelai from surging to her feet in appalled shock. _That's_ what this was about? Her beloved was being put through this nightmare…for _this._ "You love her," she hissed, hands gripping her knees so tightly they shook.

"What?" he demanded. "What did you say?"

"You love her," she repeated, louder. "All this…because you love a woman…young enough to be your daughter."

Clenching his fists, Grady growled, "I would not say such things if I were you."

She ignored him. "An impressive gift you're…attempting to give her. Illogical, traitorous…and reprehensible, but impressive."

"You stole her throne," he reiterated stubbornly.

"So goes the spoils…of war!" she shouted back. "Perhaps her father should've…considered that before murdering…his daughter's husband…and his King…and nearly starting a civil war!"

"And she should be punished for his idiocy?" he argued. He gestured furiously. "I do not deny his grievous mistakes, nor do I find flaw in the punishment you meted out against him, though it pains my heart to admit that. But she did nothing wrong!"

"The people of Ferelden…deserve a King of Maric's blood," Lorelai bit out.

"The people of Ferelden do not careif a son of Maric's blood or an Andraste-damned _toad_ sits the throne!"

"The Landsmeet-"

"The Landsmeet did _not_ proclaim the bastard King! They sided with the Grey, and with _your_ decision as to who would have the crown!" Grady thrust his finger at her again. "_You_ placed him upon the throne, _you_ usurped Anora!"

Lorelai thought of Anora, in the estates and lands given to her by Alistair and herself, given mercy and the ability to live out the rest of her life as she pleased. A move that, in the darkest corner of Lorelai's mind, seemed a poor one. Now, low and behold five years later, it appeared that the Warden had been right.

"You seem to know quite…a bit about what happened at the…Landsmeet," she said, her voice thick with fury. "I wonder who told you all of that."

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer her.

"Mark my words…you filth. If your precious blonde…_bitch_ has anything to do with this-"

"Do not finish that sentence!" he warned, his voice echoing through the cargo hold.

"-I will…see to it that…she shares her father's fate!" Lorelai finished in a hoarse scream.

Hideous, choking anger filled the space, beating against her trembling body like a river against a stone. She watched the rage fill him up, watched it take his eyes and change him.

_Good_, she thought furiously. _Strike me! Lose that shred of civility you still cling to and show the monster you hide from yourself!_

And his fist clenched, as if he intended to do her silent bidding. But then the rage receded, and his eyes became his own again. "I will grant you that transgression on the basis that I have upset you with the truth," he whispered. "But do _not_ think to test my mercy again."

"Truth?" she hissed. "You commit an act of…high treason over a hopeless…infatuation, and you speak to me…of truth?"

"Do you deny your actions, Warden-Commander?" he sneered, crossing his arms.

"How can I? In the face of…_your_ conviction?" she snorted. "There is no…truth in politics, there are…only sides. Sides and power." Lorelai narrowed her eyes and jeered, "Hide behind the…guise of truth if you'd…like. You're just trying to…shift the power. Well played." She smiled mockingly. "Enjoy it while…it lasts."

"Do not threaten her again," he said flatly.

Lorelai didn't answer, and felt a greasy bolt of satisfaction as his cheek twitched.

He exploded then, kicking the crate he'd been sitting on with enough force to send it careening across the floor, before storming back up the stairs.

It was only after he left, after there was nothing left in her ears but the sound of water caressing wood, that Lorelai broke down and wept.


	19. Keep

**You know when you write a chapter, and you're like, "Yeah, I finished it!" Then it slowly, creepingly, dawns on you that it sucks and you have to start all over? Yeeeeeah...**

**Thanks for all the reviews, favs, and alerts! Hope anyone who celebrates Thanksgiving had a wonderful day yesterday!  
**

* * *

Zevran narrowed his eyes, and felt rage rise up in his throat. He swallowed it back; it was very rare for anyone, save Leliana, to witness him lose grip of his emotions. Isabela and Howe certainly weren't going to see it.

It was difficult, however, in the face of this.

It had been a fortress once. Built for unknown peoples for an unknown purpose, made of ugly black stone. Time and the surrounding jungle had taken their toll, dragging structure to chaos. The center buildings were still intact, from this angle it looked like there were four, perhaps five of them. They stood like an island of civility in a sea of destruction.

The ruins of the rest of the fortress formed a perimeter around the center buildings of decimated walls, half-barracks, and used-to-be towers. In its prime, the place must have been more than immense. Now, its ruins created a dangerous gauntlet of exposure for anyone attempting to approach unnoticed. The height of the center structures gave an all-too-clear line of sight into the graveyard of broken stone.

Jacob growled softly by the elf's side.

Zevran reached down to pat him gently. "Aye, my friend. This is not…ideal, to say the least."

"Maker have mercy," breathed Howe from behind him. "They have her…in _there_?"

"It would appear so," Zevran answered, eyes trailing over the labyrinth he'd be forced to cross. It was hard to tell where the jungle stopped and man's attempt to beat it back began. Roots and vines had already absorbed the outer rim, laying claim to what had once been orderly blocks. No doubt if they were to come back in ten years, the line of jungle would have advanced even further, with no trace of the first stones to have been consumed. The jungle would eat them.

The elf suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

"I would imagine she's in there," Isabela added. The loquacious pirate Queen had become uncharacteristically quiet since Zevran had informed her of the nature of their mission on the voyage to the island. "When they told us to shove off, they were merrily stocking the place like they intended to make it their summer home." She snorted bitterly. "Kept anything of _mine_ they found in there, as well."

"I suppose that answers the question of how they funded their operation," Howe sighed. "Maker, what a nightmare."

"That is an appropriate word, yes," the elf agreed. He started stroking the mabari's head repetitively, mechanically. He needed to do _something _with his hands. The former Crow had confidence aplenty…but even he would be hard-pressed to pretend that this was feasible alone. It would be suicide without Leliana by his side.

It may be suicide, anyway.

Somewhere off in the massive, shadowy trees there came a rustling and cracking of branches.

Howe swore, and Zevran felt him spin around behind him to face the sound. He didn't turn, though he felt Jacob's muscles stiffen beneath his fingers.

"Pay it no mind, Warden," Isabela cautioned. "This is no happy, friendly Fereldan forest. The creatures here are," she paused, as if searching for just the right word, "fearsome."

"And here I thought you were grasping for a word that _wouldn't_ escalate the situation," Howe said tensely. "Silly me."

"You don't need to be coddled," she replied. "You need to stay alive. Leave them alone, and they will leave you alone. Zev," her hand slid over his shoulder, "are you _certain_ you wish to stay here? Come back with me, we'll wait for the others in Gwaren together."

"No," he answered. "I am familiar with the concept of respecting boundaries. It's time I exercised it in practice. What better reason than to keep from being eaten?"

Isabela laughed softly. "I think your familiarity with boundaries extends simply to knowing the word."

Finally looking away from the ruins where, undeniably, his friend was being kept, the assassin turned and gave her a broad smile. "I have never heard you complain of my lack of understanding."

"I find it hard to believe any woman finds cause for complaint in your company, Zev."

"Sorry to interrupt as you two flirt your way through disaster," Howe interrupted with exasperation, his face lined with weariness, "but we should find a good place to make camp. I don't fancy walking around in here in the dark." His eyes twitched to the jungle surrounding them, every movement filled with tension.

Zevran felt a modicum of sympathy for the Warden. This was no doubt the first time he'd set foot in a jungle, and it was surely unsettling, to say the least. Strange trees speared toward the sky, spreading branches and leaves so thick and broad the sunlight could barely penetrate. Wherever it did, what could be loosely described as bushes sometimes made it difficult to walk they were packed so densely. They sprawled immensely, and their leaves were bigger than Jacob in some instances.

Bizarre fungi grew everywhere. Rope-like vines descended seemingly from nowhere. Hot, moist air trapped by the upper prison of tree branches pressed down, suffocating them. It was easy to forget they were on an island, for the sound of surf was nonexistent, unable to penetrate the wall of vegetation.

Yes, he felt sympathy for Howe. Zevran himself was feeling slightly trapped. Maker only knew what the dark-haired son of Rendon Howe was feeling.

"My travel-weary comrade is right," the elf said. "Go back to Gwaren. Wait for Alistair and the others. They'll be there sooner than you think, I have no doubt."

She nodded, face pale, her auburn hair leeching the color from it. "Be careful."

"Ah, I always seem to have beautiful women concerned for my well-being. I am a lucky man, yes?" he asked Howe brightly.

"Apparently," he grumbled.

"Ignore him, he is grumpy," Zevran said in a stage-whisper. "Go on. We shall be fine."

She disappeared quickly into the jungle, the sound of her footsteps swallowed by the trees.

"Do you trust her to wait in Gwaren? To bring the King, and everyone else, back here?" Howe asked quietly, stepping closer to the elf.

"Isabela is no traitor to the crown. She would rather be a treasured friend, a person who aided in a desperate time." Zevran winked at him in an attempt to ease the other man's fears. He supposed if he didn't know Isabela, she wouldn't exactly inspire trust in him either. "Much easier to get out of trouble with that card in your pocket, instead of She-Who-Abandoned-The-Crown-In-Its-Time-Of-Need. Doesn't have the same 'let me go' ring to it."

"I suppose it is a handy…card," Howe agreed, though he continued frowning.

"She has many. She enjoys collecting them," the former Crow said. "You really should smile more often, Warden. All that glowering, it's bad for your health, didn't you know?"

Howe stiffened, then his shoulders sagged and his eyes narrowed with a touch of what _may_ have been humor. "Are you certain you didn't spend a lot of time in Denerim with Sigrun?"

Zevran folded his hands over his heart and gasped dramatically. "I assure you, Warden, I never laid an inappropriate hand on the lovely dwarf. I give you my solemn word." He grinned mischievously; what an ingenious way to pass the time. "Why do you ask?"

"She always says I should laugh more often," answered Howe, his cheek twitching minutely. Probably at the word "lovely".

"Does she?" Zevran questioned, affecting a tone of surprise. "She sounds delightful. Such a shame I angered her so. I shall attempt to rectify that when she arrives." He bowed extravagantly. "So, in the search for a camp, would you like to lead the way?"

Cheek still twitching, Howe turned stiffly and started making his way through the bush. Zevran and Jacob followed, and when the elf glanced down at the mabari, he had to bite his tongue to keep his laughter in check, for the dog was glaring at him with a great deal of ill-humor.

The elf winked at the hound, then asked Howe's back cheerfully, "Since my experience with the lady Sigrun is limited and tragically confrontational," he added mournfully, "do tell me what she is like. You seem to know her very well."

Jacob laid his ears flat against his skull, and the glare intensified.

"First off, it is only a fool who claims to truly know a woman," Howe snapped without turning around. "Second, I hate to tell you that there's probably no rectifying your first impression with her. She doesn't take kindly to those who denounce her friends, and she's not keen on second chances in that regard."

He didn't sound like he hated to relay that information _at all_. "By that argument, she counts you as a friend, yes?"

"I suppose," he snarled.

"Excellent." Zevran patted the now-glowering mabari on the head, and winked again. "As her friend, I am sure you are only interested in her happiness."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Howe finally turned slightly to look over his shoulder at the elf.

The elf in question painted his face with the most innocent grin in his repertoire. "Why, because her happiness should _certainly_ include a man to fawn at her feet and worship her, no?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "I could be that man…if only you would part with some information. I will be sorely outmatched without your deep insight."

Under the impression that his statement might provoke a certain reaction, Zevran was well prepared when the other man stopped and turned to face him. Jacob was not so prepared, and consequently ran directly into Howe's legs.

"I'm sorry, let me understand this right. You think _you_ could make Sigrun happy?" the Warden asked, thunder gathering in his eyes impressively.

"Why not? She is beautiful, of course. Fierce. Apparently loyal. Deadly with her blades, I would assume. That is all I require. More than I require, in fact. And, if I do say so myself, I am certain I can provide whatever it is that _she_ needs." Blinking exaggeratedly, Zevran waved his hands as if indicating something obvious. "I am quite devastatingly handsome, clearly. Roguishly charming. Witty. Capable of protecting her should the need arise. A heartfelt apology should smooth things over between us and the rest will fall into place, I have no doubt."

He was not disappointed by the effect of his words.

Howe's jaw clenched, and at his sides, his hands tightened so swiftly into fists that the blood was driven out of them, leaving them pale and shaking. Stepping in, he took full advantage of the height difference between them to stare down at the assassin.

"You're not worthy of her," he hissed.

"I'm not?" Zevran questioned, filling his voice with confusion. "How disappointing. Who, then, do you think _is_ worthy of her?"

"No one," the Warden retorted. "At least no one _I've_ met." He stopped then, backing away from the former Crow as if he just realized what he was doing. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't occupy yourself by getting under my skin," he said quietly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to make camp." He spun around, and began pushing his way through the vegetation forcefully.

Jacob curled his lip at Zevran, but didn't make a sound.

"Not even yourself?" Zevran countered, before the other man could get too far away.

Howe froze again, but didn't turn to face him. "'Not even myself', what?"

"Even you are not worthy of her," the elf explained patiently. "This is what you think?"

"I don't- That's totally irrelevant," the archer answered tightly. "But, no, I don't think I am, either."

"Why?" All traces of humor gone now, Zevran focused on the dark-haired man's back intently. If he couldn't get it out of him now, there would be large amends to make in regaining the Warden's good faith and trust. He gave a mental sigh. He supposed, if he failed right now, that he would have plenty to time to win that trust back.

"She deserves better than I can give," came the answer, but his voice had lost all venom, and his shoulder sagged a bit at the admission.

Honestly, must he hold this man by the hand like a lost child? It was a wonder the entire population of Ferelden had not simply…extinguished itself. If it took these people this long to get around to admitting they liked one another, Maker only knew how they managed to reproduce at a consistent rate.

Then again, Lorelai and Alistair hadn't been this thick-headed about it. Although it had taken _forever_ for them to share a tent, come to think of it…

"But you want to be a better man for her, is this not so? To give her what she deserves?" Zevran pressed, his fingers twitching with the possibility of victory peeking its shy, comely head over the horizon.

"Of course, I do. She's-" Howe turned again, his face carved in comic lines of surprise. It crumpled swiftly from shock to despair, and a spew of furious curses unraveled from his mouth like a dropped spool of thread. "I. Am. An. Idiot," he groaned when the rant of filth had ended, and he plunged his face into his hands.

"You are," Zevran agreed pleasantly, feeling disgustingly proud of himself, "but I hear most men are when it comes to this sort of thing. Come, come," he gestured to the jungle before them and draped his arm around the other man's waist, "let us make camp and then we can discuss what beautiful poetry you shall use to woo your lady."

* * *

Another dark room. At least this one had rectangles of light spearing in from various high, narrow windows. Much too high up the wall for escaping out of, though, and much too small, anyway. No chains, that was a step up in the world. Infinitely more depressing, however, since it meant they assumed she had so little chance of fleeing that shackles were unnecessary.

Another perk was that they seemed to have perfected the dosage of the drug in her food. Whether they'd known the correct amount the entire time, and were just overdosing her on purpose on the journey, or they'd just _now_ figured it out mattered little. After her most recent deliveries of food, Lorelai hadn't experienced the same mind-wiping smoke, or the same loss of hours.

Still all the coordination of a newborn calf, still the empty void of her absent ranger abilities…but no blackout, no oblivion.

Yes, she was definitely moving up in the world.

A wave of dizziness swept her, and she promptly, albeit gracelessly, sat on the floor. Blood pounded in her temples, and she swallowed hard, trying to breathe evenly until it passed. As it gradually subsided, a subtle noise eased its way into her conscious.

A quiet scratching.

She pressed her palms against her temples. Was she imagining that? A horrific thought occurred to her: where there rats in this cell? Surely there were. Lorelai had never feared any animal before…but that was then, with all the power of a ranger at her fingertips. Now she'd be at their mercy. Drugged and pregnant.

Scrambling to her feet, she pressed herself against one of the cool, stone walls. She peered around the room, the sparse light from the high windows casting everything in a frustratingly dark shade of gray.

The noise continued, determined…and far too regular to be made by something in nature.

"Your Majesty?" called a barely audible voice.

It came from the other side of the door.

Was she going mad? It seemed a distinct possibility. Cautiously, Lorelai approached the heavy wooden door anyway. At this point, she'd take a conversation with someone not really there over her solitude. Her fictional friend might cheer her up. After all, he called her "Your Majesty". She hadn't heard that title for quite some time.

"Who are you?" she whispered hoarsely, leaning her face near the door frame.

"Oh, thank the Maker!" the voice gasped. "I've been looking all over for you!"

She blinked. The voice was very male, but that wasn't a shock. She hadn't seen another woman since she'd been kidnapped. What surprised her was the fervent relief in his voice.

"I don't have much time," he continued hurriedly. "They don't exactly have you under guard, but you're not being left alone, either. Your Majesty, forgive me. When I was asked to make this wreck of a fortress ready, I had _no idea_ the intention it was going to be used for. Please, believe me!"

Belief, or lack thereof, could be delayed for the moment. "A mercenary then?" she asked.

"No," he spat bitterly, "I was asked by a man I totally trusted, and I find myself betrayed just as vilely as you have been, my Queen."

"Grady," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the door wearily. His treason knew no bounds, if her new friend was to be believed.

"Yes," he replied. "By the time I knew what was happening, you were already here and he would listen to none of my arguments. I'd gladly toss myself from the roof for my part in this treachery, but that won't help you in the slightest," he added with a self-mocking laugh.

"Not generally," she agreed, grateful for the way the lower dose of the drug was enabling her to speak clearer, with less pauses. "It's a poor solution for…almost every problem."

He laughed again, but sobered quickly. "Your Majesty, though I've nothing to prove my loyalty, I-"

"In my current situation, there's not…a whole lot to lose, is there?" Lorelai pointed out, laughing weakly. "What is the worst that trusting you…if you prove false, will do?"

"Not the vote of confidence I was looking for, but I'm not surprised. I'll do all that I can to get you out of here, my Queen, this I promise you," he whispered. "All I can offer at the moment are words of warning, however. As out of control as Grady is, he is _not_ our biggest problem."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"There are whisperings that make me fear that Grady is not as in charge as he thinks he is," he said. "He seeks to place Anora back on the throne, and set you and the King free…but that sentiment is not being echoed in the corridors."

His words set Lorelai's hands to trembling. "Who is in charge?"

"I don't know yet, all the men talk in circles, never implicating anyone. He could be sitting next to me in the mess hall at breakfast for all I can tell. But I don't think he's someone who has a friendly, everyone-gets-out-of-this-alive ending in mind."

"Andraste's blood," she whispered, one of her hands moving to her swollen stomach

"Please, Your Majesty, tell me you know Isabela, the captain of _The Siren's Call_."

Confusion replaced her fear. "Yes…what in Thedas does _that_ have to do with anything?"

His sigh was one of pure relief. "Oh, Andraste must love me! At an inn in Gwaren, I heard her boasting of knowing you and the King. I slipped her a note in the midst of a fight, telling her where you'd been taken, on the off chance that she might actuallybe telling the truth." There was a sound like his palm striking his side of the wall. "I didn't have time for anything else! Surrounded by Grady's lackeys, expected back at the ship," he growled in self-loathing, like his own excuses weren't measuring up. "I should've skipped out, gone for help."

"No, that would've been reckless. And I would've been deprived of your…shining company," Lorelai whispered reassuringly, even as she slid down the door until she was again sitting on the floor. By Andraste's mercy, someone _knew_ where she was. For an instant, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope, a thought beyond the moment-to-moment existence she'd been mired in.

_Isabela would tell Alistair._

"I have to go," he said, interrupting her sudden euphoria.

"Wait!" she blurted out. "How will I know it's you when you return…and not someone pretending to be you? I have nothing but your voice."

"A code name then. If I don't tell you my name is," he paused, "Keep, then it's an imposter."

"Not your real name…I take it?" she teased, smiling in spite of everything.

"I'd have horrible parents if it was, wouldn't I?" Keep said with a laugh. "Stay safe, Your Majesty."

And he was gone.


	20. Gratitude

**Hi, everyone. Sorry it's been so long :(. I could blame it on the holidays, and it IS partially their fault, but it's mostly mine. I had a bit of a crisis of faith in writing. I was spending my time trying to emulate other writers to make myself better, and it doing so, made it totally not fun for myself. So I avoided the story for a time, because I found no joy in writing it. It took me a while to realize that I can't write like anyone other than myself, and it was wrong to try to do so. I'm not looking for sympathy, I just wanted to be honest with you guys about what happened.**

**So, in apologies, this chapter is quite long. And I swear the next chapter after it will come in a more prompt fashion, as I *think* I've reclaimed my joy in writing. Thanks to everyone who has stood by and kept reading :) Especially you reviewers, and most especially animegirl10, who sent me a review just a few days ago and really reminded me why I do this: for myself...and for those of you who enjoy my story :)  
**

* * *

A hand shot out of the tightly-packed crowd, snatching the King's arm.

Sigrun, behind the cloaked and hooded monarch, drew her blades with instinctive panic. Who had recognized him? Who had seen them? How many were there?

He jerked his arm towards his chest, dragging the hand and its owner out of the throng in a stumble. Gathering a fistful of their leathers in his free hand, he dragged the person forward.

"Isabela," Leliana said sharply, stepping in front of Sigrun and reaching forward to untwine the King's fingers. "Let her go, dear. You will cause a stir."

"Easy, darling," Anders whispered from behind her. "Your blades will taste blood soon enough."

Not soon enough for the former legionnaire, but she did as the mage asked. If with poor grace.

"Such a welcome," Isabela murmured as the King released her, dusting imaginary particles off her tunic. "One would think I was a loathed enemy."

"Forgive us, captain," Leliana said sweetly. "The past months have been trying."

Isabela smiled, but it wilted quickly when she looked at the King's hooded face. Sigrun couldn't see it from this angle, but she could bet it wasn't friendly. Leliana had said he would be better on the road, and she'd been right…to a point. He wasn't frantic any longer. Instead he was cold and quiet, like a forgotten tunnel in the Deep Roads. And just like an abandoned tunnel, just because you couldn't see inside didn't mean you couldn't tell that it would be safest to stay away.

"You've looked better, Warden," she said to him, trying to regain some of her former swagger. "I would've thought your current lifestyle more comfortable than your last, but you seemed more at ease then."

"My current lifestyle has led to a problem," the King growled quietly, which Sigrun could almost feel vibrating through the soles of her feet. "Are you going to help me rectify that problem…or would you rather stand here and flirt some more? See how that goes?"

Leliana stared at him, her eyes narrowed just a bit.

Isabela swallowed hard, but she didn't flinch. "Right this way, my friends." She blended back into the dock crowd, followed closely by the King.

"Might I recommend shortening his leash a bit more, dear?" Anders advised.

"Shall I let you hold the leash, ser mage, and see if you can do any better?" she snapped. With a flick of her hair, she disappeared after them.

"Not the most suave thing you've ever said," Sigrun chided at the open-mouthed mage.

"Really, Anders. Are you trying to _avoid_ her bed?" snorted Aednat, shoving roughly passed him to follow Leliana and the King, Aideen close behind her.

"I was just- What I meant was-" he spluttered to the elves' backs, before turning to Sigrun in desperation. "Really, I-"

"Don't tell me, tell her. Come on." Sigrun quickly started elbowing her way through the people. The faster they got to the ship, the faster they'd be off, and the faster they'd make the island, and the faster she'd see Nathaniel-

Sigrun swore under her breath. Leliana had been asking some strange questions in their free time. Never leading, but always somehow ending up on Nathaniel, and as a consequence, the dwarf found herself more and more preoccupied with the archer. Wondering if he was sleeping enough (he was always up and about at odd hours), if he was eating enough (if left to his own devices he'd forget at least one meal), if he was giving himself blisters fussing with his damn bow and arrows (honestly, he'd sleep in a hole in the ground if it meant that his bow was properly oiled), if he was bandaging said blisters or just waiting for his Ancestor-damned hands to fall off.

She swore again, and picked up her pace. Surely when she saw him and had appropriately berated him for all those things, surely she would stop thinking about him.

* * *

The pounding on Lorelai's door woke her from a doze. She curled into the corner, slouching herself down to look tired, artfully hiding her stomach in the process.

It swung open, and Grady came in. He darted a critical eye over the bare room, finally laying his gaze on her. "It has been brought to my attention, involuntarily I might add," he began, "that I have been being a poor host." An exasperated grimace stretched his face. "I have come to offer you a luxury."

Despite the fact that what he said made little sense, Lorelai stared at him with blatant malevolence, as was her normal greeting for him.

"I thought perhaps you might like a hot bath." At his words, several of his lackeys shuffled in carrying a large wooden tub, which they placed in the center of the room. Following them came more, all bearing buckets filled with hot water. As they filled the tub, a last one entered with a plate of rough soap.

The ranger's mouth hung wide open in shock and surprise. What did he mean by this? Was he trying to get to her to…like him? Was this some cruel ploy? _Did they know about the baby?_

Involuntarily brought to his attention? _Keep._

All the men filed out just as silently as they'd filed in, leaving only Grady. "I'll stay outside the door, just let me know when you're finished, and I'll have everything removed."

Not waiting for a response, he turned and left.

"Thank you," Lorelai blurted out, just before he shut the door behind him.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You're welcome, my lady."

* * *

"I cannot say that to her!" Nathaniel half-shouted, digging his fingers into his scalp in frustration and near-panic. "Are you mad?" He was fairly certain that was exactly what the elf was.

"Of course not, Warden. Do not be so quick to judge. You are too shy. You must approach her with boldness and surety." The assassin waved his arms around airily. "How else will you sway her if you do not exude confidence?"

"I don't know, but Maker help me, I'm not saying that." Nathaniel grumpily grabbed his pack and pulled out the things needed to oil his bow. At least that was something he felt capable of doing.

But telling Sigrun that all this time (Andraste strike him dead, for that was clearly an appropriate punishment for someone so stupid) he had feelings for her? He'd rather throw himself into the ocean to drown.

"You know what shall happen if you fail to tell her, yes?" Zevran chided.

Nathaniel blanched, almost dropping the jar of oil. "You wouldn't!"

The elf pulled a face of tragic sadness. "Ah, but I would be forced to, my friend. Do you not recall that you promised me you would tell her, in exchange for my silence about a certain dream I overheard? I am a man of honor, ser! If you were to break your half of our deal, it would only be fair to carry out the task myself."

"'Man of honor'!" Nathaniel snorted. "'Man of exploitation' is a better title for you."

"I'm wounded!" Zevran cried, clutching his chest as if the archer had made a fatal strike.

"You'll live," Nathaniel assured him.

"Only long enough to see the two of you bonded together with the ties of love. Then I shall perish, a life well-lived."

Nathaniel groaned. With this cad "helping" him, it'd be a bloody miracle if he didn't totally botch the entire thing. Then again, it wasn't like he'd been able to come up with anything decent on his own, either.

"Any other ideas?" he finally said. "Preferably something that sounds less…_you_."

* * *

Leaning against the wooden rail, Alistair stared fixedly at the gray-green water frothing against the side of the ship. The spray felt good and clean against his skin, but he only noticed it in a detached sort of way. It was the way he noticed everything lately. Every sense, every thought he had was constantly spiraling inward. Draining down to a pit inside his heart. He knew the others thought he was shutting off, turning them out. That wasn't the case, at all. Their energy in all its forms: positive, negative, anxious, focused, wild, restrained, all of it fed the pit.

When he found the _men_ responsible for this horrid chapter in his life, all of that would come rising up, lunging from inside him like a High Dragon.

He allowed himself a small smile. If he'd been able to channel himself like this during the Blight, he felt like he would've been a whole lot more helpful. Oh, he'd done his part. Shield for his leader, sword for his love, lethal to the darkspawn and anyone else who'd gotten in their way. But there hadn't been this razor's edge of rage, sinking everything down to a singular goal. Sure, he'd hated Loghain, held the man responsible for single-handedly destroying the only family he'd ever known, but it had been loose, blurry anger dulled by mind-numbing grief.

Not this focused beam of destructive energy. Not Lover's rage.

While Lover simmered just below the surface, King ticked off the details for the hundredth time. They'd sent the vultures to Shale, Wynne, and Sten, telling them to go to Gwaren and meet with Isabela to reach the island. He'd flatly refused to tell Eamon anything, merely leaving the castle and the man who'd raised him sputtering in impotent anger. Mistress DeWitt had been similarly handled…sort of.

_She bit her lip, looking up at him. "So I am to be kept in the dark, then? Even as my King leaves the palace without even a single member of the palace guard?"_

_ "There's nothing to tell," Alistair responded tersely. "It's Warden business, and therefore I don't need the guard."_

_ She clasped her hands together tightly, and her eyes filled with tears. "I am not stupid, Your Majesty, and I'm not certain as to what I've done to make you think so."_

_ He blinked at her for a moment, totally thrown off. "Mistress DeWitt, I assure you-"_

_ "Just bring her home, Your Majesty," she interrupted, before turning swiftly in a rustle of skirts and disappearing down the hallway._

That woman saw too much by half. The entire way to Gwaren, he'd been expecting to see her come traipsing out of the woods and begin organizing camp for the night. But she hadn't, much to his relief. He still hadn't told Fergus what was happening, and his heart pounded with guilt. It was for the best, however. All Leliana needed was _two_ murderous men to control, instead of one.

"Ah, so serious!" came a voice from beside him.

"A shame really, what with that handsome face," mourned a second voice from the opposite side.

Maker help him. He didn't turn to either side, keeping his eyes on the water. "Should I be some other way?" he asked, knowing that ignoring them would do no good.

"One might request you tone it down just a hair," Aideen suggested, bouncing her curls before whispering to him conspiratorially, "you're frightening the pirates."

Alistair snorted. "Am I?"

"Indeed," agreed Aednat. "There's no need for all the glowering. It will all be for nothing in the end, anyway."

Now this was an interested turn of conversation. "How so?"

Aideen gasped, and shared a horrified look with Aednat. "And here we thought you were a good husband!"

"I am," he growled, shooting the dark-haired elf a warning look.

"Then you should know your wife better," Aednat chided, unfazed by his glare when he turned it on her.

"Honestly," Aideen scolded.

"All right, ladies. I'll bite." He straightened up, part of him despising them for the distraction they gave him, and part of him wanting to hug the pair of them until they couldn't breathe. "What am I missing that you feel is so vital?"

"We're going to get there, and she's going to have slaughtered them all," Aideen said simply, with a whimsicalness in her voice that most women reserved for chocolate.

"Well, maybe not _all_," Aednat pointed out. "She'll have kept _some_ around to wait on her hand and foot."

"Right, silly me," Aideen acknowledged. "So, except for the slaves, she'll have killed them all."

"And she'll have made a throne out of their bodies-" Aednat expounded.

"-and she'll be sipping tea out of one of their skulls-"

"-while the carrion birds poke out the eyes of the particularly loathsome ones."

"So, all this," Aideen concluded, gesturing in his direction in a circular motion, "is all for nothing."

"Not to say it's not terribly impressive-"

"-and manly-"

"-but unnecessary just the same."

Alistair choked on the gruesome mental picture. The worse part was he could actually see it: the bodies, the carrion birds, even the- "Tea out of a skull?" he managed to spit out.

"If there aren't any cups around, what else is she supposed to use?" Aideen countered, as if he'd questioned the sun's rise in the morning.

His head spun momentarily. How in the Maker's name did Lorelai handle this pair? A grin spread slowly across his face. How had she handled _any_ of them five years ago? "Silly me. It makes perfect sense."

"Of course it does," Aednat agreed. "Now, when we get there, what's she going to say?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Come on, you're the good husband!" Aideen urged. "What's your lady wife going to say when you come thundering up looking all," she waved in a circular motion again, "like this?"

He closed his eyes, wanting to give them a real answer. Those crafty minxes had him wholeheartedly playing their game, and they deserved a valid conclusion for their efforts. "She'll say…" he opened his eyes, and pitched his voice into his best imitation of Lorelai, "'Well, dear heart, if I'd known you were bringing company, I'd have built more chairs.'"

"Yes!" Aednat crowed enthusiastically while Aideen clapped her hands. "Brilliant! That's exactly what she'll say!"

"And you don't want to ruin such a perfect moment with your thunderclouds, do you?" demanded Aideen sternly.

"No."

"So, chin up, warrior," whispered the brunette elf, suddenly serious, her freckled face filled with tenacity. "There will be plenty of time for slaughter." She banged her fist lightly against his breastplate once. Then, she and her "twin" walked away.

Alistair watched them go, then turned back to the water. He imagined if he called them back and hugged them breathless that they'd be embarrassed, so he restrained himself.

* * *

Lorelai couldn't stop sliding her hands along her skin. Never in her life, not even after they'd left the Deep Roads and gulped breath after breath of fresh air, had she felt so clean. The impossible luxury of the bath couldn't be described, not if she had all day. She'd stayed in it long after the water had gone cold, determined to remove as much filth as she possibly could. Who knew when she'd get another?

Anything seemed possible after that bath. Escape, rescue, life _after_. The world felt limitless.

Perhaps she would make Grady's death swift, in light of that gift….then again, perhaps not.

Besides, it was Keep she had to thank for it, she was certain. The next time he came, no matter what information he had to tell her, words of gratitude would be the first things to come out of her mouth.

A scratching came at the door, and she grinned widely. Pushing herself to her feet, she started her way across the chamber.

"Pretty, pretty Queen. Pretty, pretty Queen in a dark, dark cell."

She froze halfway to the door, her heart banging painfully against her ribs. _That was not Keep_.

Backing up slowly, staring at the shadowy shape of the wooden door, Lorelai found herself longing for the darkness in the corners of her room. Anything to hide her from whoever that was.

"Pretty Queen is so quiet. Does she not want to share her stories?"

She flinched. The voice was…vile, a grating hiss that scratched at her ears. A desperate plea tried to rise to her lips, a fervent prayer to Andraste that the speaker was a ghost or a demon. But she couldn't give it voice, for it would be a waste. The very undercurrent of humanity in it was what made it so terrifying.

"_I _have stories for the pretty Queen. Stories filled with blood. Filled with _so much blood_. It's on my hands, you see, pretty Queen. It won't come off my hands."

Lorelai squeezed her eyes shut as she pressed her back against the reassuring stone wall, felt the coolness of shadow wash over her. _Hide me, Andraste_.

"Pretty, pretty Queen. So pretty, so admired. So-"

Her fingertips dug into wall convulsively, the abrupt end to the words almost worse than had they continued.

"_Bitch_! _Whore_!"

Lorelai jumped, and tears fell from her eyes. An erratic pounding thumped against the door, and she had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep in the cry of fright. A shuffle of cloth, an anguished moan, then silence.

Lorelai did not sleep that night, as she stared fixedly at the stout wooden door to her cell.

* * *

The seething heat of the jungle bore down on Alistair, slithering underneath his armor to lie against his skin like a blanket of slow-burning fire. He marched resolutely behind Isabela, not allowing himself to become distracted by the daunting plant life that threatened to swallow he and his party whole.

The only thing he dared to think about was the grotesque picture Aideen and Aednat had painted for him. He focused on it so singularly that the expectation to see the throne of bodies, the skull tea cup, grew large enough to block out the doubts that continually tried to penetrate his mental armor.

"Not far," Isabela said softly over her shoulder, as if feeling his stare between her shoulder blades.

Not far. Not nearly close enough.

Doubt saw his moment of weakness, and plunged into his mind with dagger-like precision. Why, if Lorelai were merely being held for ransom, had she Called no animals to help her?

Cursing quietly to himself, he shoved the thought away. He couldn't afford to question now. Along with being a ranger came a connection with animals that he couldn't begin to comprehend. She would not have Called any if she knew they would merely be embarking on a suicide mission to help her.

That was it. That _must_ be it.

Isabela shuffled to a stop, using the giant fronds of some strange catapult-sized bush as cover. She turned to him, then gestured with her head. "We think she's in there."

Alistair obediently looked where she'd indicated, and felt the world around him drop away. A part of him screamed that rescuing her from _that_ was impossible, that he'd indeed have to call the armies of Ferelden to even attempt to attack it. But Lover drown out those concerns in bloody fire.

She was in there. As sure as he was of his own name, he was sure she was in there.

And that hulking monstrosity of a fortress, which huddled in the jungle like an enormous ill-tempered toad, would not stand in his way. _Nothing_ would stand in his way. If he had to-

"Ah, my friends, so good of you to make it," Zevran said warmly, materializing next to Alistair apparently from thin air. His tone was like they were being welcomed into his sitting room.

"Zev," Leliana hissed sternly from somewhere behind Alistair's shoulder, "how did you do that?"

Oh, good. Alistair had been worried it had been just _him_ who thought it seemed like the elf had appeared from nowhere.

"Warden Howe has been teaching me all kinds of things in our quality time," he explained. "Take, for instance, this shadow ability-"

"Where is he?" Sigrun snarled, diverting the assassin from his conversation with Leliana.

"Around here somewhere," Zevran told her in a gentle tone Alistair hadn't been aware the elf possessed. "Fear not, gentle lady, he-"

"You don't look any worse for the journey," Leliana interrupted, reaching forward to grab his arm and drag him closer. "You've been careful, haven't you? Taking care of yourself like a good assassin?"

Alistair turned to look behind him, and saw the glint of steel in Anders' eyes. Then he remembered that Anders hadn't been in the throne room until Zevran had already left…and apparently Leliana hadn't been forthcoming about her elven partner. Who needed visions of Lorelai reclining on a throne of dead men to divert his murderous thoughts? He had romantic catastrophe to capture his attention.

"Of course," Zevran replied. If he noticed Anders' glare, he didn't acknowledge it. "I even took excellent care of the Warden in my possession." He finally looked Alistair in the eye. "And I can see you did the same. Perfect." Turning his attention back to Leliana, he pointed at her sternly, "I hope you're ready to go back to school, my crimson-haired flower-"

Anders choked in what Alistair could only assume was flaring jealousy.

"-because you will be learning this shadow ability, too. Now, if you will all follow me, we can-" No one had interrupted the former Crow this time. He'd come to a dead stop all on his own.

Alistair noticed the elf's eyes had gone…fuzzy for lack of a better word. Not a descriptor he'd ever thought he'd used in conjunction with Zevran, but it was oddly the most appropriate one. The Warden followed his old companion's gaze, and almost choked as thickly as Anders.

Aideen and Aednat stared right back at Zevran. Aednat leaned her blonde head close to her "sister", and whispered something. The smile on Aideen's face as a result was purely predatory.

"My friend, how kind of you to bring such…gorgeous distractions with you," Zevran murmured, his face softened to the point where Alistair wasn't sure he would've recognized the elf if he'd passed him on the street.

At his words, Aednat actually _giggled_ while Aideen's smile turned into a grin.

Maker help him… "I try," Alistair replied, managing not to laugh. He was impressed, and relieved, by the steadiness that had come over him. Perhaps it was the presence of everyone as a cohesive unit, although they were missing Shale, Wynne, and Sten. But still, they were no longer fractured, spread across the land desperately trying to tie all their pieces together. They were as whole as they could be.

And they were where Lorelai was.

All that allowed him to appreciate the drama going on around him.

"I'm certain there will be time for proper introductions later," Leliana said, biting her cheek in an attempt to keep her features serious. It was failing miserably.

"Of course," Zevran answered, pulling his eyes away from the "twins" with visible effort.

"Do you plan to stand them here in the jungle forever, Zevran?" asked Nathaniel Howe. He made his entrance in a much more reasonable fashion than Zevran: merely pushing his way through the dense vegetation. His eyes met Alistair's, and to his shock, the archer's face paled noticeably, and he immediately dropped his gaze to the ground. "Your Majesty," he said quietly, bowing much lower than necessary.

Alistair looked at Leliana in alarm. The bard looked as confused as Alistair felt, but she darted her eyes to Sigrun emphatically. Alistair obediently looked to the dark-haired dwarf, and was confused even further. She was biting her lip, staring at Nathaniel with some unidentifiable, raw emotion plastered across her features.

She noticed Alistair watching her, and blushed instantly, dropping her eyes.

More confused than he possibly thought he could be in this scenario, Alistair chose to ignore it all. Stepping forward, he held out his hand to the son of Rendon Howe until the man straightened up from his unnecessary bow.

The archer looked between the hand offered to him and Alistair's face several times before just staring in what looked like…surprise? Relief?

"So, who would you like your heartfelt, inadequate, desperate gratitude to come from?" Alistair asked. "Husband, King, or fellow Warden?"

The tension finally seemed to ease out of the man, Maker only knew where it had come from in the first place. He took Alistair's hand. "Husband, always."

Alistair swallowed the sudden lump that rose in his throat at the other Warden's sincere words. He cleared his throat roughly, "Then you have it from a husband. Thank you…for everything."

Nathaniel nodded. "If, ah, you'll excuse me, Your Majesty." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing at the group gathered nearby.

"Of course," Alistair said. As he pulled his hand away, someone else came pushing out of the heavy bushes. Alistair heaved a happy sigh, and dropped to one knee in front of the mabari. "Jacob, old boy," he greeted, holding his arms wide. "Come on, son."

Bounding forward, the wardog pressed himself against Alistair's heavily plated chest, nuzzling his face against the Warden's neck and shoulders. Burying his face against the mabari's thickly muscled neck, Alistair felt himself roughly brought back to reality. "Don't worry, boy, we'll get her back," he said. Jacob whined in response, pressing his considerable weight harder into Alistair.

The urge to shed a few tears against the dog's short fur was appealing, but Alistair forced it out quickly. He knew it wouldn't be just a few tears if he let go of his control. He contented himself with keeping his face against the back of Jacob's neck and taking deep breaths.

"You look a _mess_!" he heard Sigrun hiss vehemently.

"Sigrun, I-" Nathaniel began, trying to interrupt her tirade.

Oh, this he had to see.

Alistair turned his head to watch the proceedings, resting his cheek against Jacob's head.

Nathaniel was trying not to, but his hands were gradually rising in surrender as Sigrun heaped on the onslaught. "You've lost about twenty pounds-"

"Look, can I just-"

"-your hands look like that excuse for pork chops the innkeeper served us in Lothering-"

"Sigrun, would you-"

"-and I can tell you haven't been sleeping worth a basket of nugs!"

Nathaniel turned to look at Zevran, of all people, frantic desperation plainly filling his face. The elf shrugged, and then grinned lewdly.

"I told you that if I walked across Ferelden to find you half-dead, you'd regret it," she growled.

"Actually, you never finished that sentence. And, as I recall, he had to be half-dead in a _ditch_, not just half-dead," Anders chimed. When Sigrun directed her withering stare at the mage, he coughed. "Of course I could be wrong."

She spun back to back to Nathaniel. "So, have you got anything to say about the deplorable condition you've let yourself fall into? Anything whatsoever?" she demanded.

Again, incredibly, the archer looked to the former Crow. The elf shrugged again. "She gives you no choice, my friend."

"I give you no choice about what?" the former legionnaire spat. "What is he-"

Nathaniel seized Sigrun by the shoulders, bent his head, and kissed her soundly.

"Well I'll be the sissy mage's mother," Oghren grunted into the ensuing silence.


	21. No Debate

**Whew, long chapter. Be sure you've got a snack or something to get you through it. :P  
**

* * *

Nathaniel pulled back sharply, and the departure of his lips from hers was even more jarring than the unexpected meeting. His face had gone a ghastly shade of gray, and his eyes were the size of dinner plates.

Sigrun didn't imagine hers, as she stared at him, were exactly normal-sized right now, either.

And why should they be? Nathaniel had just…just…

_ …kissed her_.

She hadn't seen him in so long it felt like forever. It wasn't until he'd appeared that she'd realized how bothered she'd been by his absence. Seeing him ease out of the jungle had made her heart hiccup in her chest, and his physical condition had just made her start shouting. Angry words to cover up the fear and concern that spiked inside her.

And then he'd…._kissed her._

What was even more surprising was that she didn't want to punch him for it. Far from it. In fact-

"Though I am at loathe to interrupt what is sure to be an entertaining conversation, perhaps we should move to camp," Zevran said, his voice filled with suggestion.

And that was when the former legionnaire remembered that she and Nathaniel weren't exactly alone.

She gritted her teeth as she felt blood start thumping in her temples. Whatever showed on her face must not have been pretty, as Nathaniel's color took a steep dive from gray to white.

"Come, come, my friends," Zevran cajoled. "It's not far."

The group started, reluctantly, moving along. Sigrun stood her ground, allowing everyone to pass them until she and Nathaniel were actually a bit alone. Her lips were still tingling pleasantly, and her face felt cold, as if his lack of proximity left her skin chilled. An unexpected giddy rush swam through her head, and she hastily slammed a lid on it. This was not the time to become…girly.

Narrowing her eyes, she got a touch of viscous satisfaction at his apprehensive look. "Are you planning on explaining that?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, of course. I-"

"Not now," she interrupted, putting up a hand to halt his words. "You've got to talk to the King, and you've got to teach Leliana your shadow ability, right?"

He nodded mutely.

"All right. Then when there's time, later, you're going to explain yourself." Pulling away from the sudden urge to shrink the distance between them, Sigrun started walking in the direction everyone else had. "Oh, and Nathaniel?" she added, turning to look over her shoulder at him.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice oozing misery.

"Make sure it's a good explanation," she said sternly. She paused then, wondering where she was getting the guts to say this. It was a terrible idea, and yet it was coming out of her mouth anyway. "That is…if you want to kiss me again."

His tentative, answering smile made her heart hiccup again.

* * *

"Your Majesty!"

Lorelai's head snapped up, and her body protested the jerky movement. Apparently she'd been dozing, but the dreamless sleep the drug forced on her always made waking up disorienting. Let alone when she was woken up by an insistent voice.

Heaving her much-larger-than-she-felt-necessary bulk to her feet, Lorelai shuffled her way to the door. Once there, she remembered to give nothing away until she knew _exactly_ who it was. "Hello?" she answered, trying to sound as unsure as possible. If this was a trap, she didn't want to sound like she was expecting anyone.

"It's Keep, Your Majesty."

Lorelai let out a sigh of relief, and pressed as much of herself against the door as she could. She knew that she knew nothing about this man, but the iota of comfort she derived from him was invaluable. Even if this turned out to be betrayal later…at this moment, it was all she had to hold on to.

"Thank you for the bath," she whispered to him.

"It worked?" he asked, and then laughed dryly. "Imagine that, he actually listened to me. I must have scolded and shouted at him for an hour, at least. When he left, he gave the distinct impression I could go drown in the nearest bucket. I never thought he'd actually-" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, I'm glad I could do something for you. My other task of gathering information hadn't been going so well, so I thought-"

"'Hadn't'?" Lorelai repeated, interrupting him. He didn't answer right away, and in that pause, the Warden felt icy claws squeeze the back of her neck. "Keep?"

"It's not good, my Queen," he murmured.

"Not telling me doesn't make it any…less true," she responded, her hands curling into fists.

"Grady is not in charge. He never was. He just thinks he is."

All of her breath gusted out, and she had a moment's difficulty pulling in another lungful. "Tell me," she whispered after a few moments.

"These aren't all Grady's men. They're hired, and they aren't concerned with Grady or his insane cause. They just want their coin. None very bright, but they don't need to be, do they?" he laughed bitterly. "I had some of Grady's men with me to start making this ruin livable, and the rest were the ones who abducted you. Now, I'm the only one left."

"Where are the others?" she demanded frantically. She held no love for those men obviously, since they'd captured her. But suddenly, faced with either Grady's men or mercenaries…she found herself instinctually longing for the former.

"Dead," Keep answered bluntly. "All of Grady's men have been slowly dying 'accidental' deaths. Plenty of staircases in this hunk of stone to fall down if you're not paying attention." There was a stretch of silence. "The only reason I figure I'm still alive is because of the distance I've put between myself and Grady. Since the muscle isn't smart, and I've blended into the background, they've probably forgotten about me."

"Grady hasn't noticed?"

"Grady's too delusional to notice," Keep growled. "Oh, he sees the deaths, grieves appropriately for his fallen men, and then moves on. He's blinded by his motivations."

"Whoever hired the mercenaries…is in charge," Lorelai said as her mind filled in the blanks.

"Yes. Grady did _not_ get these thugs. I'm sure you've noticed he has certain…ethics. He'll not turn down the manpower they're providing, but he didn't get them himself. He may be deranged but-" Lorelai heard something that sounded suspiciously like he'd banged his head against the door. "It gets worse," he said miserably.

"It always does," she replied, though her heart beat a bit faster. When in a mess like this, there was _always_ worse.

"I don't know who hired the mercenaries. No one mentions him by name. But I finally got the real plan out of a few of the men." He took a deep breath. "Your Majesty, I…"

"Keep," she said, as firmly as she could, "you're not making this…better."

"The mercenaries were hired to kill you and the King once he arrives. Then, they will be paid. Maker only knows where their mysterious master is getting the funds to pay them all. There was quite a lot of pirate's loot when we got here, but…"

Lorelai closed her eyes for a moment as Keep continued talking, swallowing hard. Well, it wasn't really a surprise. Though they were enemies with none of their fellow countries at the moment, she could see many of them willing to profit from a Ferelden in anarchy.

That didn't keep the fear from spreading through her body like a disease. Oh, Andraste, she had put her love on the throne. If she had just been content to remain just Wardens, none of this would be happening-

She bit her lip until she drew blood, forcing the thoughts away. It would help nothing to wish to redo the past. And she didn't really wish to change her mind; it was just the fear talking. Now it was time for the fear to shut up.

"There's an awful lot of men here…for an assassination," she remarked, her anxiety making her tongue slow again. "I mean, I'm flattered…and all, but it seems…overkill."

_Overkill_. She nearly let out a hysterical giggle.

"Your husband has quite the reputation, as do you. But I know," Keep answered. "I guess he has that kind of money."

Another country would have that kind of money. Especially one that made it a national pastime to meddle in international affairs. "Why did he need Grady?"

"I honestly have no idea." He snorted. "Maybe he's getting a kick out of his fanaticism, and he'll get an even bigger kick out of watching Grady's face when he learns of your fate." There was a heavy pause. "Maybe this isn't about you, at all. Maybe it's about Grady."

"A bit elaborate, don't you think?" she said with a small smile.

"You're right. Although I do know for a fact that it would kill Grady to know he had a hand in your death. Remember the strange ethics?"

Lorelai thought back to the night when Grady had killed one of his own men for her. "Yes, I remember."

"Irrelevant, unfortunately. The point is your life is in danger, and Grady's petition to the King for him to come retrieve you in exchange for relinquishing the crown is a trap."

"Grady's sent the message to Denerim already?"

"The only time I've seen him recently was to demand he allow you that bath," Keep said. "Since my outburst on your arrival, he hasn't exactly been confiding in me. I would assume it's been sent."

Lorelai winced. "And you can't risk trying to…convince him that he's being played. He'd most likely ignore…you, and it would draw attention…to the fact that you're loyal to him."

"Loyal to _you_," he corrected fervently. "Not to Grady. Not after this-" He choked to a stop. "I'll find a way to get the keys to your cell. I don't know who has them, but I'll find out. Grady only has them sometimes. I'll sneak you out. No one knows this wreck better than me; there are plenty of places to hide. We'll-"

"We'll what?" she whispered. "Even if we make it out of here…can you sail the ship by yourself? Because I certainly don't…know how."

A heavy pause. "If we wait for the King to get here, we'll escape to him. Run before the mercenaries have a chance to ready the attack."

This was ludicrous. Keep was going to get himself killed, and it wasn't necessary. "No," she said firmly, and Queen took the opportunity to stretch its authoritative legs. "The only thing you can do…is go out into the jungle…and wait for Alistair. Warn him about…the trap. The two of you can plan from…there."

"My lady, I'm _not_ leaving you in here by yourself."

Lorelai shivered as she thought of the…man outside her door the night before. She couldn't tell Keep about it; he'd worry. "You have to."

"No!" he half-shouted, then hastily lowered his voice. "No. That's not an option."

She sighed at his stubbornness. "Keep-"

"Don't give up, my Queen," he hissed desperately. "Don't you _dare_."

Lorelai felt the sharp weight of defeat in her chest, but then her hands curled protectively around her stomach. Her muscles tightened swiftly, and her fingers flexed into claws. "I will not give up."

* * *

Zevran watched Leliana blend smoothly out of sight as the ocean swallowed up the last of the sun's rays. She appeared out of the shadows to his left, and her movement had been almost totally untraceable. Almost.

"Well, it's damn near perfect," Howe said, though his eyebrows were gathered together in a frown. He rubbed the stubble on his face and grimaced. "Makes me feel kind of pathetic that it took me so long to learn."

"Ah, bandage up your ego, my friend," the elf said warmly, patting the taller man on the shoulder. "Our Leliana is very talented."

"Many things I learned as a bard were not too far off from this, Nathaniel," Leliana added gently. "And besides, I couldn't have learned so quickly if it weren't for an excellent teacher." She batted her eyelashes for good measure.

Howe made a strangled sound in his throat, and Zevran hid a smile behind his hand. Leliana's charms were not for the faint of heart. "I wish I could go with you," he managed once his blush had died down.

"You are not meant for this line of work, Warden," Zevran reminded him for the hundredth time.

"I broke into Vigil's Keep just fine," he muttered, eyes on the ground.

Zevran took the opportunity to glance at those gorgeous elven ladies that had accompanied his friends. The brunette met him stare for hungry stare, while the blonde blushed prettily and gave him a little wave. The assassin felt his blood run hot as his vision momentarily doubled. Maker help him. None had been able to make his heart race like that for a long time.

"Yes, dear. But this is a bit different," Leliana told him, her eyes serious.

"Of course," Howe acknowledged, though he was clearly in the midst of an emotional wrestling match. He glanced around the camp, and quickly averted his eyes when they fell on the silhouette of Sigrun crouched by the fire.

Alistair joined them, the mage behind him with an impressive glower on his face. "Are you sure about this?" Alistair asked sharply.

"We must evaluate her confinement," Zevran said smoothly, his eyes and tone showing nothing but confidence. Alistair did not need to know the dangerousness of this task. "Now that Leliana and I can both perform the shadow ability adequately, we will be able to pick our way through that labyrinth to get to the keep itself."

The big man's face hardened. "Be careful, both of you. If anything-" He bit his tongue, and took a shaking breath. "Be careful," he repeated.

"Of course, darling," Leliana said lightly. "Zev and I will not allow anything to happen to the other, will we, dear heart?"

Ah, she was such a marvelous actress. Her manipulations ran so deep that if he were not of the profession he was, he'd have been sucked under just as easily as the rest of them had been. "Of course not, my crimson-haired flower."

Zevran gleefully watched the mage's face go from red to purple. If he'd known it would've been this much fun tormenting Leliana's beaus, he would have introduced himself to every single one of them.

"Go brood over there, Alistair," Leliana said, waving her hand at him. "And you two, as well. Nathaniel, Anders."

Nathaniel left obediently with the King, while the mage stood his ground. "I don't like this," he ground out from between his teeth.

"We talked about this, Anders," Leliana said firmly. "Lorelai needs us, and you cannot keep me in a glass bubble."

"Sure I can," he retorted. "Just give me a minute to figure out how to make one and-"

"Anders," she interrupted. "I will come back."

He mumbled something under his breath that Zevran couldn't catch, but Leliana stepped forward gracefully and pressed her lips to the mage's cheek, which seemed to shock the Warden completely.

"Ready, my precious ruby?" the former Crow asked, just to instigate a little bit more. Maker, he was a cruel man.

Leliana turned to him, and her eyes told him she knew what he was doing, and that he'd better get it all out of his system soon, because she wasn't going to tolerate it much longer. He gave her a minute nod: message received.

The mage glared at him with jealously and anger bordering on hatred. Stalking over in a swirl of robes, he looked down at Zevran. "If anything happens to her, so help me Andraste, I'll hold you personally responsible."

"Personally?" Zevran's lip curled up in a sneer. "Oh, that is a grave charge. I will be sure to take _my_ partner's safety a great deal more seriously."

The mage's eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened on his staff until his knuckles went white.

"That's enough!" Leliana hissed, grabbing the mage by the back of his robes and yanking him off balance. "Behave like a pair of boys fighting over the same toy _after_ Lorelai is safe!"

Zevran bowed to his companion. "Forgive me, darling."

"Sorry," the mage answered.

"Let's go, Zev," she snapped, grabbing him by his sleeve and dragging him away from camp. When they were out of earshot, she whispered as they walked, "You're unbelievable."

"Am I?" was his arch reply.

Even in the darkness, he could see the smile on her lips. "No, you're not. You're very believable."

"Oh, excellent. For a moment there, I had been concerned that I'd surprised you with my behavior. There should be no surprises in a relationship like ours. Bad for business, you know."

She rolled her eyes, but grinned. "No, but be kinder, Zev. I…like him."

"I see," he said gravely. "This is very serious. He has not discussed his intentions for you with me. As your guardian, I take mighty offense to this."

Leliana gave him a forceful shove in the shoulder, knocking him into a nearby tree. "I mean it, Zevran. Be kinder."

"Of course, my red-winged nightingale."

"To the task at hand?" she asked as she wrapped a black scarf around her tell-tale red hair, seemingly satisfied with his response.

He nodded…and the game began in earnest.

Zevran blended into the shadows like Howe had taught him as Leliana's slim figure melted away before his eyes. Only the years he'd spent by her side let him sense her presence as they made their way toward the gauntlet of crumbling rock that stood between them and the fortress. Between them and Lorelai.

The elf clenched his fists, banishing all thoughts of their friend from his mind. If he thought of her, he would be lost to worry and anger. And if he thought of her, he'd also think of her husband's desperate face, and he'd succumb to doubt so strong it would shatter his bones. He could feel it, scratching at the edge of his spine, plaintively whispering for acknowledgement.

He had absolutely zero intention of doing that.

Blanking his mind, he thought of nothing but the shadows. The fortress as an end goal disappeared to be replaced with the simple goal of reaching the next shadow. And the next. And the next.

Zevran lost himself to the play of light against darkness, to patches of all-encompassing black.

_"Do you feel better?" he asked, leaning against the wall. The Arl's estate was a never-ending maze of rooms, but she hadn't been hard to find._

_ Lorelai spun around swiftly, her face pale, eyes wide. "Do I…what?"_

_ "Do you feel better?" Zevran asked again. "Now that the man who killed your family is dead by your hand."_

_ Her body tensed as if to flee, and her hands snapped into fists by her sides. "It doesn't bring them back, does it?" she whispered._

_ "I did not ask that. I asked if it made you feel better." When she stared at him in agony, he added softly, "You do not need to lie to me, Warden. Your darkness does not frighten me."_

_ Still she stared at him. Perhaps he had been wrong, thinking he'd found a unique way to help this woman who had been kind enough to give him a second chance, and yet strong enough to keep him in line. A leader worth following._

_ He turned to leave her in peace._

_ "Yes," she called out. The former Crow faced her again, and her body was more relaxed, less wary. "I know it doesn't bring them back, but-"_

_ "You do not need to explain it to me, Warden. I understand."_

"Zev."

He gasped, letting his weight sag against the solid wall of the fortress, then he swore viciously. So much for not thinking about her. But it was over; they'd made it to the fortress. He craned his head back, and the height of the wall vanished into the sky above them.

Now to find a way in.

They were looking for nothing in particular. Just a weakness in the obviously dilapidated structure, a crumbling that allowed infiltration. There was no guarantee of anything of the sort, but in the elf's experience, there was always something. No building was perfect, even in peak condition.

An immeasurable amount of time passed before he heard Leliana's soft gasp from somewhere ahead of him. He met up with her, and her delighted grin warmed his heart. "Now you see me," she chirped, "now you don't." And she slid through the fissure in the outer wall into darkness.

The Antivan smiled and shook his head. This was why he adored her so. Only Leliana could make a daring, nigh-impossible reconnaissance and/or rescue mission resemble a children's game of hide-and-seek. It was a good thing, too, for the doubt still scrambled behind him, now clawing at the back of his neck. Her playful joy allowed him to keep it at bay.

He followed her lead, and eased through the breech.

If he'd thought the moat of ruined half-walls had been a labyrinth, he was sorely mistaken. _This_ was a labyrinth. Zevran could sense it pressing down on him, making him heavier, slower. Like the floor plan was laid out before his eyes, he could almost see the countless rooms.

He wanted to moan in despair.

Leliana gave his hand a sharp tug, and in the darkness he could feel her insistent stare. He took a deep breath and shook himself. Keep hold of his emotions, remember his training.

_Up_, his instincts whispered. _In a place like this, a hostage would be higher, not lower._

So up they went, Zevran in the lead, Leliana guarding the back. He let his Crow teaching guide him; pull him to where he would put a hostage in this maze of black rock. All the while mentally noting the turns they were taking, the choices being made by his feet. He knew Leliana was doing the same behind him.

After all, they wouldn't be much use if they couldn't find their back way out, would they?

A few groups of men passed by them, but they always had plenty of warning to find a quick spot to disappear into. Windows were sporadic, leaving plenty of shadows to immerse themselves in. The men were noisy and unaware of their surroundings. Sloppy. Lazy. Comfortable.

Zevran felt a feral smile crease his lips. He planned to exploit their every weakness, and they were making it so easy.

His feet stuttered to a stop at a heavy wooden door. The lock on the outside was a bulky lump of metal, made for serious business. Southeast side of the building, as far as he could tell. The assassin's nerves hummed like they were too close to a fire.

Here. She was here.

Stepping to the side, he gave Leliana a courtly bow, gesturing with a flourish to the lock. She was better at this than he was. He would most likely damage it, whereas the bard would leave it in the pristine condition they found it in.

Leliana carefully removed her lock-picking kit as she crouched in front of the door, and Zevran closed his eyes. He stilled his mind, listening to the soothing, minute clicks as the Orlesian sought to free the locking mechanism. It was a sound he could listen to for hours, which of course was counterintuitive, since the longer those sounds went on, the more trouble they were in, generally speaking.

The satisfyingly loud _clonk_ came, and Zevran opened his eyes as Leliana drew a calming breath. She looked to him, and he nodded. Rising to her feet, she lifted the latch and pushed the door open.

Meager starlight splashed high across one wall through an annoyingly high, annoyingly thin window. The rest of the room was shielded in blackness, and looked empty.

But it wasn't. He felt it in the fibers of his muscles.

Leliana clicked the door shut behind him, and he whispered into the seemingly empty room. "Warden?"

There was a startled movement from the darkness, possibly from a corner. "Z-Zevran?" answered an astonished, barely audible voice.

Leliana darted past him in a flash, knocking him in the shoulder and forcing him to stumble a few paces forward. Good thing, too, since the sound of her voice had turned his feet to stone, had fractured his heart. The rawness, the brittleness. The _fragility._

The bard had vanished into the shadows on the opposite side of the room. "We're here, darling," he heard her say.

"Leliana?" The name was spoken like a prayer, and cracked with tears at the end.

"Of course, you great silly thing," Leliana answered, her own voice sounding a bit too delicate for Zevran's tastes. "Did you think we wouldn't come for you?"

"I…I…" The voice trailed off, and she took a thick breath. "Alistair. Where is he? Is he…all right? Is he-?"

"Questions, questions," Leliana chided. "He's fine. I took good care of him for you. He's here, hiding in the jungle with the rest."

"Who-?"

Leliana rattled off the names of their allies slowly, giving time for the names to sink in, for the _help_ to sink in.

"How?" she asked, sounding a bit dazed.

"The vultures, dear. Your brilliant, ugly masterpiece."

She laughed thickly. "Zevran?" she called.

Cursing himself for his lack of movement, for allowing his emotions to paralyze him, he crossed the room swiftly. He entered the shadows the two women inhabited, and as his eyes adjusted, his blood roared through his chest in a deafening roar.

Her clothes were a tattered mess, her hair a long mass. A detached part of his brain knew it had been over five years, so the length of her hair shouldn't be such a shock. It somehow made her more vulnerable to him, less of the feisty Cousland girl she'd been when they'd met.

But it was her face that quickened his heartbeat and had him unconsciously fingering his daggers. Haggard and drawn. Fearful and wane. Filled with naked relief.

Alistair could not see this. The man's bloodlust would be insatiable.

Zevran's own was reaching new heights with every breath.

She was cradled against Leliana's chest, her arms wrapped tightly around the bard, her limbs shaking. When Lorelai saw him looking down at her, she reached out with her nearest hand. Her lips were trembling, her eyes pleading, tears streaking down her cheeks.

He took her hand, and dropped to his knees more than knelt on purpose. Bending his head forward, he kissed her hand. "My Queen," he said quietly.

A tear-filled laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "Only _you_ would call me that at a time like this."

He pressed her hand to his chest. "It is an appropriate time, no?"

She laughed again, but quickly sobered, burying her face into Leliana's neck. "Zevran, they…gave me something. I can't move well…and talking is hard…" the more she spoke, the more worked up she got, her voice rising in pitch, "and I can't…sense any _animals_." The last word was almost a sob.

Leliana looked at him sharply over the Warden's head.

Zevran gestured with his free hand. "Come here, you beautiful, scandalous woman," he said lightly. "I will not breathe a word to your husband; you know I am very discreet."

The bard passed the archer into his arms gently. He hugged her sideways, her right shoulder into his chest, for a moment before tilting her face up with a finger beneath her chin. "Open your mouth, there's a good Queen."

He inhaled deeply as her breath brushed against his cheeks. A note of recognition chimed lightly in his head at the scent. Yes, he'd thought as much. "Ranger's Reins," he told her. "That is what they've given you."

"Is it…permanent? Is it…hurting me?"

Zevran's eyebrows knotted together at the second question, which seemed strange. "No, it will simply wear off. It is only affecting your mind. It is meant solely to crush your ranger senses; the rest is a side effect. You walk like a marionette with cut strings because your brain cannot tell your legs what to do, not because there's anything wrong with your legs."

Lorelai noticeably relaxed against him at his words. Leliana glared as she said, "Someone knew she was a ranger."

"It's fairly common knowledge," he answered, though the protest sounded weak even to him. "The archer ranger Queen of Ferelden."

The bard shook her head. "No. This is too personal."

Lorelai shifted, sitting up slightly. "Listen. Listen, I've got to tell you…"

And so she did. As she talked, Zevran couldn't stop the horror from growing in his gut. Followed closely by burning rage.

"Anora?" Leliana spat. "I will slit that bitch's throat myself!"

"No, no. Wait," Lorelai said, reaching for the red-head's hand. "There's more."

And so there was.

Leliana swore colorfully, and Zevran wished he had the breath to do the same. It seemed all his air needed to be kept for breathing properly at the moment. Trap. Assassination. The throne. Mercenaries. Money. It was a _mess_.

"We have to get you out, right now," Leliana said. "We met hardly anyone on our way up here; you can come with us the way we came."

Lorelai started shaking her head, and Zevran couldn't help but agree. Ranger's Reins would make her about as stealthy as her armor-clad husband. And without the shadow ability he and Leliana had learned from Howe, she'd be unable to blend into the crevices should they encounter another miscellaneous group. Let alone through the gauntlet once they were out of the fortress.

But he felt Leliana's desperation, too. The sooner they got her out of here, the better.

"Yes, Lorelai," Leliana was whispering fiercely. "This is too dangerous. We've got to-"

The Warden continued to shake her head fervently. "Can't."

"This 'Ranger's Reins'," she snorted derisively, "can't be that bad. We don't have to hide. We'll just kill anyone we see along the way. By the time they find the bodies, we'll be-"

"_Can't_," the brunette hissed fiercely. She leaned forward and snatched Leliana's hand, pressing it against her abdomen.

The bard's face filled with dawning horror, and she covered her mouth with her free hand. "Oh, _Lorelai_," she moaned.

"What?" demanded Zevran, the look on Leliana's face driving a spike of ice through his ribs that nearly stole his breath.

Lorelai grabbed his hand and placed it next to Leliana's, a frantic sigh leaving her lips. "Can't," she reiterated firmly.

"Merciful Andraste," Zevran whispered, his hand splayed out against her rounded belly. Her rounded, _pregnant_ belly.

"Did they do this to you?" Leliana's voice was barely above a breath. "Did these…_men_," she choked on the word, and didn't finish the sentence.

"No," she said, smiling and patting the bard's hand reassuringly. "I swear. It's…Alistair's. Right before I left."

It seemed insane that _she_ was the one being reassuring right now. Zevran's shocked brain moved slowly. "That is why you asked if Ranger's Reins was hurting you physically, yes?"

She nodded, pulling her eyes away from the stricken bard. "Will it hurt…the baby?"

"No," he answered numbly. "It shouldn't. I have no experience of someone in your condition being drugged with it…but no, I wouldn't think so."

She sighed. "Guess that's the best I'm…going to get." Her eyes widened suddenly, and a split second later, Zevran felt her flesh shift and bulge under his hand. He snatched it away in surprise.

"Oh, Maker!" Leliana gasped, her eyes filling with astonishment.

"Get your hand back…over here…you sissy!" Lorelai demanded with a laugh, and seized his hand again to press it firmly against her stomach. The movement came again, and Lorelai half-laughed, half-cried.

"Strong legs on this one," Leliana said, a semi-hysterical giggle slicing through her words.

Strong, indeed. Zevran, now that the surprise had faded, found himself utterly compelled by the erratic movement under Lorelai's skin. To feel that life inside of her shift and change positions. It brought a strange, heavy sensation to his limbs and chest. Imagine what it would feel like if the child were his?

He nearly gagged. Alistair…

"You will not tell him," Lorelai growled thickly, her dark eyes fixed on the elf.

She had seen his reaction painted across his face.

"Lorelai," Leliana began slowly.

"_No_," she argued. "No discussion. No debate. He would…lose it. Do something reckless. You swear to me right now that…you will not tell him."

"Lorelai," Leliana tried again.

"_Swear it_!" the Warden snapped.

"We swear," Zevran answered, ignoring the horrified look on Leliana's face. After enduring Lorelai's ferocious gaze for a few more moments, the bard dropped her eyes and nodded in miserable surrender.

"Well," Leliana said briskly after a lengthy silence, "just think, you won't have to worry about carrying the baby around too much. We'll just strap it to that giant mabari of yours and-"

"_What_?"

Her outburst startled them both, especially Zevran, since the woman was still sort of in his lap. "I was just joking," Leliana said unsurely, "since Jacob's so big…"

Lorelai's face crumbled, and tears fell from her eyes. "He's-"

"He lives," Zevran interrupted, his mind racing to everything Howe had told him in their time spent waiting and training in shadow. "Anders saved him when they came to look for you." He grabbed her shoulders tightly. "_Jacob lives_."

Lorelai stared at him, then at Leliana, who nodded encouragingly, then back at Zevran.

The Queen of Ferelden buried her face against the assassin's chest, and quietly sobbed tears of joy.


	22. Trust

**Another long one, bring snacks! Also, sometimes my mind goes quicker than my fingers and I leave words out, type the wrong word, etc etc. I felt like that happened a lot this chapter. I tried to catch them all, but I'm sure I didn't. So, sorry for the typos!  
**

* * *

In the time since her bold words, Sigrun had run the gamut of emotions. Giddy elation, dreadful suspicion, tentative joy, and now, what seemed like hours after Leliana and Zevran had left: nauseous anxiety.

Someone suddenly loomed next to her, and she flinched. Craning her head back, she blinked in surprise to see the King. "Your Majesty," she blurted out.

He nodded a greeting and dropped to a crouch beside her. For a long minute, he didn't say anything. Sigrun wondered if he just needed some company to distract himself from the fact that his former Blight companions were, at this very moment, looking for his wife. And he couldn't help them.

"You know, Lorelai was always good at this sort of thing," he finally said, rubbing his hand over his hair roughly.

"Good at what?"

He glanced at her sideways. "This…pep talk, matchmaking stuff."

"Matchmaking?" Sigrun echoed, her heart giving a couple ill-sounding thumps.

The King gave her a tired smile. "You haven't really moved from this spot since we got here, and when you did, it was only to help gather firewood." He gestured with his head to where Anders and Nathaniel were crouched, conversing quietly.

"I'm…tired," she said lamely, following the shadows along the lines of Nathaniel's jaw with her eyes.

"Sure you are," he agreed, raising an eyebrow. "Tired from all that over-thinking you've been doing, no doubt." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her. "Harsh times let you find out who you really are, and who those around you are." He glanced around the camp. "I found out what I was made of during the Blight, and I found out what Lorelai was made of."

A bright, boyish grin suddenly appeared on his face. "I liked what she was made of…and I liked that she made me want to be better." The smile faded. "Life is too short to waste time thinking about why we feel what we do, especially for Wardens. Just…trust in what Nathaniel has to say to you. Don't wonder, don't question. Just trust." He shot her another glance. "You do trust him, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered quietly, her fingers tying themselves in knots in her lap.

"Maker, am I botching this up or what?" the King asked, a sheepish expression on his face.

"No," she said, her face feeling hot that she was having this conversation with him of all people. "You, ah, you actually helped. Thank you."

He brightened considerably. "Oh…well, good." He looked up, and then hastily got to his feet. Clearing his throat loudly, he abruptly departed.

Sigrun looked up in confusion at his sudden exit, and found herself staring at Nathaniel, his lean body on the opposite side of the fire from her.

Her breath slid in with a gasp. In the time she'd had to herself, Sigrun had laid out the contents of her heart. The conclusion she'd come to was as terrifying as staring off a ledge: that she wanted him to kiss her again. Not just in that flippant, off-the-cuff way she'd mentioned earlier. Wanted it with an intensity that she'd never felt for anyone or anything before.

Her chest tightened and tears burned in her eyes. What could the son of a noble want with a casteless dirt clod from Dust Town? It was so stupidly illogical, so implausible. She was nothing special. And he was…

_Trust him. _

Clenching her fists tightly, she blinked to clear her eyes and forced what she hoped looked like a semi-normal smile. His lips mirrored her, and held just as much anxiety. Walking slowly, he made the half circle around the small fire to her side, and sat down.

"I don't care where we talk," he began. "We can do it here, or we can go off into the jungle, if you'd like."

The deep, quiet murmur he was using to keep their conversation private shivered along the edges of Sigrun's spine. Would his voice sound like that in bed, with his arms wrapped around her? "Here's good," she answered in a slightly strangled whisper.

"All right." He took a deep breath, and blew it out loudly. "I…apologize for the way I kissed you. It was wrong to do it in front of everyone, to do it without talking to you first."

"It wasn't wrong," she disagreed, shaking her head. "I was shouting at you like an idiot. It was an efficient way to stop me," she explained to his shocked face with a quiet laugh.

Nathaniel was taken back by her response for a minute. "I just hadn't seen you in so long, and all that time I spent thinking, and then Zevran-" he snorted. "Let's just say we might not be having this conversation if it weren't for his…persistence."

"Zevran?" she asked, confused. Her mind flashed back to the first moment she'd met him, his uncomfortably blunt questions, and she felt her face drain of blood. That slick assassin had pegged her from the minute she'd spoken in Nathaniel's defense. And Leliana-

Sigrun let out a harsh exhale, and then started laughing. She covered her face with her hands and leaned forward. The manipulation was superb, really. And from so many miles apart, too, if Zevran had been working on Nathaniel all the while they were together. By the Stone, those two were as dangerous to their friends as to their enemies.

"Something funny?" Nathaniel asked in that low voice.

She raised her head, meeting his confused eyes. "Not you, Nathaniel, don't worry. Just," she gestured vaguely toward the fortress, "those two slippery, conniving-"

"Yes," he agreed with a smile, now that he was aware she wasn't laughing at him. "I felt quite, ah, stupid after someone _else_ had to point out something I should've known myself."

"What should you have known?" Sigrun whispered, her breath catching on her tongue. Laughter at their blindness aside, she needed to hear certain…things. She didn't know what they were, and it was unfair to expect Nathaniel to be able to figure it out, but she needed to hear _something_.

Nathaniel bowed his head for a moment, strands of his dark hair dangling down. When he finally raised it again, it wore a tantalizing mixture of bravery and vulnerability. "That you make me want to be a better man. For you." He blinked and took a deep breath, like that wasn't exactly what he meant to come out. "I want to be a better man for you, to be the man you deserve." His mouth twitched, like that wasn't quite right, either. "I want to be…yours. If you'll have me, that is," he added with a self-deprecating laugh.

That was it. Each different wording, each slightly adjusted incarnation. Exactly what she needed to hear. And even though her blood was singing its way through her body, even though she _did_ trust him, she couldn't stop the words her past pushed out. "Even though…I'm nothing? Even though I'm a casteless, ex-legionnaire, surface dwarf?"

His face hardened. Reaching over, the nobleman's son cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. "I don't want to ever hear you say that again. You are _not_ nothing. You are fierce and loyal. You are demanding and undeniable. A fast-thinker and a sweet-talker. You are impossibly lovely. You are a Grey Warden," his face softened as he paused, "and you've captured my heart like only an accomplished pickpocket like yourself could've managed."

The song coursing in her veins rose to a volume that drowned out almost everything else. "So, is that how you think this is going to go?" she managed with a half-smile. "You're just going to tell me what I can and can't say?"

He laughed and dropped his head shyly, and that single gesture sealed the deal for the scout. She gave one of the loose, dangling pieces of dark hair a gentle tug. When he looked at her, Sigrun leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. "Well?" she challenged.

Swallowing hard, he still met her stare for stare. "You're not allowed to speak badly about yourself," he insisted in that low, crawling-across-the-bed voice. "Am I yours?" he asked.

She held her breath for a few seconds, drawing out the delicious moment as long as possible. "Yes."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Then I defend you…even if it's against yourself," he explained when he opened them. "So, see, I'm not_ really_ telling you what to do."

Their lips were very nearly touching. She could feel the breath of his words against her skin. "Nathaniel?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you kiss me?"

His serious eyes flashed with a flare so distinctly male that Sigrun's stomach clenched. She breathed in, and it was like her inhale pulled his lips against hers. It was so unlike the first, which she'd been too shocked to enjoy. This was…thorough. With each beat of her heart, her bones seemed to melt more and more.

Maybe they _should_ have taken this away from camp a little bit.

"Leliana?"

Anders' voice severed the moment, and Sigrun whipped her head around to see Leliana and Zevran ease out of the night. The mage had the bard in a crushing embrace before anyone else could think of moving. The King was the next over to invade their space, and as soon as Anders released the Orlesian, he squeezed the life out of her, too.

Sigrun got up and hurried over, feeling Nathaniel right behind her as the rest of camp converged on the returned pair.

"Is no one happy that _I_ have returned in one piece?" Zevran asked in feigned pain. "It is heartbreaking, truly."

Sigrun stepped forward quickly, and wrapped her arms around the elf. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, before backing away toward Nathaniel again. "Can't have anyone feeling left out," she said in a louder voice.

"Indeed," Zevran answered, his piercing eyes flicking from her to Nathaniel. "That will not do." He inclined his head, then gave her the courtliest bow she'd ever seen.

"Please tell me something," the King begged into the silence as Zevran straightened up.

"We need to gather all the food Zevran and I can carry…reasonably," Leliana said. When the King paled drastically, she patted his arm reassuringly. "They're feeding her, dear one, not to worry. They are also drugging her, however. We can't get her out while she's under its influence. It makes her clumsy."

"It is also smothering her ranger abilities," Zevran added. "I am familiar with this drug. She is in no physical danger, but she is hampered, definitely."

"She's all right, Alistair," Leliana said firmly, staring the man in the face. "As all right as she can be, at least," she admitted with a shrug. Grabbing his hands, she swung them playfully. "She asked after you."

"Did she?" the King asked thickly, watching his hands involuntarily move from side to side.

"First words she spoke," Zevran confirmed.

"Once we flush the drug from her system, we'll be able to work from there," Leliana finished. "We'll have to be quick; we need to go back tonight."

"Tonight?" Anders squeaking, losing all his color. "Like, right now?"

"Easy, witch boy," Oghren snorted. "I know she's yer cherry-pie and all, but there's a job to do, so keep yer girlie blubbering to yerself."

The mage swallowed hard, eyes glazed over like he was about to be sick.

"Anders," Sigrun said calmly, and she waited until he looked at her. Then she glanced pointedly at the King.

The mage turned to face the other man, and he swallowed again. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he mumbled, dropping his eyes. "I shouldn't be- I hope you don't think-"

"It's all right, Anders," the King said gently, patting the blond on the shoulder. "I understand the gut reaction, believe me." He turned back to Leliana. "Who are they?" His voice growled along the edges.

Leliana flicked a glance at Zevran. "That's not terribly important right now. Let's gather the food, and when Zev and I come back, we'll talk about that."

"It's what? 'Not terribly important'?" the King demanded, muscles tightening. "What do you mean-"

"Alistair," the bard hissed. "Suffice to say things are not what they seem. Lorelai, and yourself, are in danger. All that is important is that we find her a way out. There will be time for bloodletting and blame later, _trust me_."

The King stared at her for a moment, his entire body trembling. Then he slumped. Eyes locked miserably on the ground, he nodded.

Sigrun could only dream of mastering the kind of control that Leliana had. And yet, with the King's eyes safely on the ground, the dwarf could've sworn she saw a wave of tight pain cross the bard's face.

Must be a trick of the darkness.

"Now off you go," said Zevran, shooing them with his hands. "Collect food like good little gatherers."

As they dispersed, Sigrun couldn't help the small smile on her face as out of the corner of her eye she saw Leliana allow Anders to embrace her again. This one was less desperate, and filled with tenderness and relief instead.

Her smile quickly faded, however, as she watched the bard part from her mage and turn to the King. Taking his hands, she sat down with him on the camp's periphery. Sigrun obviously couldn't hear what she was saying, but her chest filled with painful steel as the King's whole body swayed forward, his face crumpling in exhaustion and worry.

Only Leliana's hands on his shoulders kept him upright.

* * *

Lorelai couldn't stop trembling. _Alistair was here_. On this island in the middle of nowhere. He'd found her, and brought enough strength to level these bastards and their Andraste-damned fortress.

No more eating their drugged food. Eat only what Zevran and Leliana brought back to her. Once she was no longer chained by Ranger's Reins, she'd know what she was capable of. If she could escape, despite her child's heavy weight. If she could defend herself should she need to.

All right, so the second part of the plan was a bit fuzzy. And calling it "fuzzy" was being generous. She was fine with that. It would occupy her time to attempt to come up with a solution. One thing she knew for certain: a frontal assault, something Alistair would no doubt be calling for, was absolutely out of the question. Unless he had some siege engines hidden under his breastplate.

She had to trust Leliana and Zevran to keep him from doing that. Whatever it took.

The child in her belly shifted again, pressing against the inside of her womb, bringing both a smile and grimace to her face. That wasn't the only thing she had trusted them with. With Andraste's mercy, Leliana would keep her mouth shut. Lorelai knew Zevran would.

There was a polite knock, and the door swung open without invitation. Grady strolled through the door, as nonchalant as ever.

Lorelai's mouth went dry with terror. Leliana and Zevran would be _coming back_. She had to get him out of here. _Now_.

"I trust you're enjoying your stay?" he asked, lacing his finger together behind his back.

She gave him a glare worthy of the Queen of Ferelden. The less she talked, the shorter this conversation would likely be.

"You think you'd be feeling nicer towards me, after that bath I so graciously gave you," he thought aloud. He tapped his chin for good measure, painting the picture of a puzzled, rejected suitor.

A low snarl purred in her throat. _Not_ from him. From Keep. Could the man not give any kind of "gift" without taking from someone else?

"Now, that's how I'll get you to talk to me," he said. He wagged a finger at her like she was a disobedient child at the dinner table. "All your silence counts for nothing when I get under your skin." He leaned forward, dipping his head into the shadows where she hid. "We haven't gotten a response from your husband yet. Perhaps your great love story is all a farce, hmm?

"Perhaps I overestimated your ambition. Perhaps _he _put you up to betraying Anora. Did he marry you because you were the last woman of the Cousland line? To strengthen his tie to the crown?" He laughed suddenly, almost to himself. "If that's the case, then you're the best actress I've ever seen."

The concoction of fear and anxiety that had taken the place of her blood swirled with irrational anger. "Are you a capable…leader, Grady?" she questioned, her voice so distorted with fury it sounded like a stranger's.

"I beg your pardon?" His slick smile faded.

"I hear things…in the halls. Unflattering things. Makes me wonder…what kind of man lets those…under him think such things? Say such things?" What was she _doing_? He certainly wasn't going to leave now. And she may have just signed Keep's death warrant.

The naked confusion on his face brought such a wave of deadly satisfaction that her lips parted in a muted gasp.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly. "What have you heard?"

She lowered her eyelashes, affecting an innocent, pained look. "I can't remember…particulars. I can't remember…much anymore. This drug makes it…so hard to think." Lorelai bit her lip for an added flair. "But they say…such awful things. And the other night-"

"What happened the other night?" he interrupted harshly. The energy that emanated from his body was…what? Wound tight as a spring, that was what.

At least now she wasn't even lying. The best deceptions were those with that bit of truth mixed in. "Someone came to the…door of my cell. He said…awful things. He spoke of blood on his hands…threatened me." She didn't need to feign the shiver that shook her words.

As he stared at her numbly, Lorelai drove the spike home. With tears in her voice that she wasn't sure were fake, she accused, "You promised me…safety as long as my husband…and I complied with your demands. I do not feel…safe, Grady, and I think you…can guarantee…nothing."

By Andraste's battle-scarred armor, Grady weaved on his feet like a tree in the wind.

"My lady, if my demands are met, I assure you you're in no danger," he said after a few minutes of gaping silence.

"That you…know of," she retorted, the wounded tone not an act, at all. Through this man's insane scheme, now her life, the life of her husband, and the life of her unborn child were jeopardy. "If you are…wrong, the blame falls at…your feet."

His eyes became dark, sunken pits in his face. Letting out a strangled moan, he fled from her cell, slamming the door shut behind him.

Shaking uncontrollably, Lorelai clasped her arms around her knees tightly.

_Oh, Keep. Forgive me._

_

* * *

_

Leliana managed not to stumble back into the camp, but it was only through a massive effort. As Zevran laid a gentle, comforting hand on her elbow, she took a deep breath. They had better rescue Lorelai soon…if only because she couldn't keep this pretty mask in place for much longer.

They'd gotten back in and out without a fuss, which annoyed the bard. If they'd had to deal with either the pregnancy _or_ Ranger's Reins, she felt confident they would've been able to get her out right now. But the bizarre circumstances of both made it too risky to attempt. It was simply infuriating. With the horrific security detail these bastards were pulling, the whole thing should've been quick and easy.

Her friend had been upset about something they'd arrived, her body wracked with uncontrollable trembling. When pressed, Lorelai had shaken her head, telling them it wasn't important. She'd hurried them out, concerned for their safety if someone were to come by. They'd made sure her food was well-hidden, even though the Warden had assured them hardly anyone came to see her.

Then why had she been so concerned about someone finding them in her cell?

Alistair seemed to materialize in front of her, as Leliana was so preoccupied and drained. Before he could say anything, she raised a hand and plastered a broad, fake smile on her lips. "Everything went well, dear heart," she said.

"It did?" he asked, as if he didn't believe her.

"Of course," Zevran insisted. "Would myself and the lovely bard be here if it had not?"

Tension hummed in the tall man's shoulders for a moment, before he sagged a little. "Yes, of course. Silly thing to question, really. Sorry."

"It's all right," Leliana soothed, patting his arm. "By tomorrow night, the drug should be out of her system, and then-"

"Then we go get her," Alistair finished for her.

"We'll see, darling. It may not be as simple as all that," she said warily.

"Why not?" he demanded.

Oh, Maker, what was she going to do? Leliana bit the inside of her cheek, using the sharp pain to drive back the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. It wasn't just the drug, of course. But how to delay Alistair without telling him? And further more, how to _actually_ get Lorelai out? They couldn't just keep sneaking food up to her. That was going to accomplish next to nothing. If she couldn't fight, couldn't sneak, how were they going to-

"My friend," Zevran chimed in, diverting the ex-templar-to-be's attention away from her. "It's been a long evening. Let's sit down, and I'll tell you everything Lorelai told us about who's behind this."

Leliana's chest contracted with relief. Zevran was a gift from Andraste, she'd swear it. He knew she was about to crack.

"Come, come. Gather everyone around. It will be like story time, yes?" Zevran put a hand on Alistair's shoulder and started leading him away. The elf called out softly, and the rest of their group followed, seating themselves in a loose circle. A couple faces turned to her in question. Whether it was the darkness or her weariness, she couldn't tell who they were. "Ah, no. Our beautiful song bird needs some rest. She already knows the story, she would spoil it for the rest of you, anyway," Zevran explained, waving a hand at her in gentle dismissal.

Oh, thank Andraste in all her mercy.

Leliana walked past the huddle of lean-tos. The shelters were hunched against the rock face that Zevran and Nathaniel had expertly chosen to hide behind. It allowed them a fire without being seen by the fortress, and it helped block the carrying of their voices. The lean-tos struck a strange chord in her chest, making her think of Morrigan. The apostate had never slept in any of the tents with them during the Blight, always keeping to herself.

She entered the encroaching jungle, leaving the murmuring hum of Zevran's voice and the crackling of the small fire behind. She inhaled, the heavy scent of the flora and fauna filling her lungs. Morrigan would've liked this place. Dark. Dangerous. Strangely beautiful. Odd, to think of the witch at a time like this. She had disappeared after the fall of the Archdemon, and Leliana's lip curled in contempt.

Her expression abruptly went blank. Were the rest of them any better? They had stayed for the party, the wedding, for some of the rebuilding. And then…they had up and left Alistair and Lorelai as surely as Morrigan had.

If they had stayed, would they be in this soul-squeezing jungle right now? If she and Zevran had stayed, would they have seen this coming? Would they have been able to protect Lorelai from this ordeal, protect Alistair from his helpless fury?

Leliana's hands twitched into fists as the tears flashed down her cheeks. Lorelai…alone for these five and a half months. Taken by strange men, held against her will, drugged into crippled uselessness, kept for ransom.

And pregnant.

The Orlesian could only imagine how it felt. The idea that men could overpower you, could _take_ you, was something every woman lived with. Sometimes it horrified Leliana to think the only thing protecting people from one another was this idea of civility, of human decency. Sure, religion had a hand in that, but it was still just a belief. There was nothing _actually_ keeping people from slipping the cloaks of sophistication they wore and becoming animals.

But she and Lorelai were both strong women. The idea of men having any kind of power of them was a thought neither woman entertained often. It was simply not something they thought they had to deal with. Now, in this heated jungle, Leliana felt the very harsh reality trying to crush her bones.

She closed her eyes and tried to envision it, needing to put herself in her friend's place. In the dark. Left alone. Hobbled. Trapped. At the mercy of at least two, perhaps more, men filled up to their throats with fanaticism. No word from your friends or family. No reason to believe they could find you. Paralyzed with fear…and yet galvanized with fierce protectiveness by the child in your body.

Leliana's throat seemed to shrink, and the air she drew in turned to a thin whistle. Oh, Maker. Men did not understand what it felt like to be pregnant. The bard had no experience of it herself, but every woman knew the base sense of it. Leliana let out a strangled laughed. Lorelai would probably be feeling just as trapped even if she _weren't_ held hostage. Her baby chained her.

But while she felt chained, she could've been surrounded by friends and family. Doted on as was proper for a loved wife, and especially a loved Queen. Cocooned on a couch, she could've sent Alistair scurrying for countless strange foods from the kitchens.

Instead…

She choked, and her tears increased, washing her face. Damn! Maybe if she let it all out now, she'd be able to keep her act up for long enough to get her friend out of there-

"Leliana?"

She spun around frantically, not thinking about her tears, the absence of her mask of flawless control. "Anders," she whispered in horror. "What are you doing here? You should be…with the others. Getting caught up with what's going on."

"I came to look for you," he answered, taking a small step towards her, his face filled with apprehension. Like she might run.

"You shouldn't have," she snapped bluntly, scrubbing at her face with her fist. "You should be-"

"What's wrong?" he interrupted, ignoring her retorts. "I mean, that's sort of a strange question, considering, but…you're," he took another step forward, hands held out in supplication, "clearly really upset. Please, talk to me."

She glared at him, furious at his intrusion. Was there to be no peace? No few minutes to break and then rebuild herself? She couldn't be a statue all the time; she was _human_, for the Maker's sake. She'd just needed a little while to let her guard down in private, and then she'd be able to put the mask on again.

"Don't do that," Anders reprimanded softly. "Don't…do what you're doing."

"What's that?" she snarled.

"Bricking it all up again. Don't. It's…it's going to make you snap." When she didn't answer, he continued, "Look, I know what you do for everyone, for Alistair. Thank the Maker you're capable of it, because no one else could've handled it. But…you've got to let go just a hair, darling." He waved his hands in surrender. "If you don't want to do it in front of me, that's fine. I'll go get Zevran," the elf's name was a jealous grunt, "and I won't tell a soul that I saw you this way."

She just stared at him for a moment. All their verbal foreplay, all their outrageous flirting…did she intend for it all to be for nothing? She'd promised Sigrun she wouldn't toy with his heart, and she'd kept that promise. All the while getting herself buried deeper and deeper in his company, his presence. Now, she couldn't keep up her mask _and_ be with Anders. Her heart wouldn't permit it. It was all or nothing.

So, again, the question remained. Did she intend for all their witty dancing to be for nothing?

In her silence, the mage had taken a few steps backwards, retreating from her heated eyes. "I'll get him, you just stay right here."

"No!" she gasped out, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of his robes. Burying her face against her chest, she wept uncontrollably. She felt his arms wrap around her, holding her tightly against him as she cried.

* * *

Zevran had watched Anders follow Leliana's path out of camp. Good. His crimson-haired flower was quite a catch, but it would be foolish of her to expect the mage to stay at arm's length forever.

"Are you all right, my friend?" he asked Alistair, now that everyone else had left in stunned silence. The truth laid out before them had shocked them all.

The Warden King rubbed at his beard's stubble convulsively. "Anora. I can't believe she- After all we-"

"Lorelai _did_ point out that Grady never actually said Anora was involved."

"And you _believe him_?" snorted Alistair, his bloodshot eyes filled with bitterness. "He's defending his obsession, of course he said that."

Zevran shrugged. "One problem at a time. Once this is over, perhaps I shall pay a visit to Loghain's daughter." The thought brought a hot jet of glee to the assassin's chest. "Just to pose a few polite questions, of course."

Alistair's stare went flat.

Ah, perhaps he should not have said that in front of the sainted, good-hearted King.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Alistair said, getting to his feet, "but you'll have any resources at your disposal that you need. After all, one can't keep track of everything. If supplies go missing, who's to say where they went?"

Zevran grinned fiercely. "What an astute observation, Your Majesty. You are a paragon of wisdom."

Smiling tightly, the Warden walked away, leaving the elf alone for a minute. Although he was happy with Alistair's opinion of his future endeavors, he was slightly alarmed nonetheless. He did not want this ordeal to change the man. As difficult as he sometimes made things, Zevran liked him the way he was.

Pushing himself to his feet, the former Crow bled into the darkness of the jungle. He needed to…stab something, and there were trees aplenty. Once he was far enough away not to attract attention, he smoothly removed one of his throwing daggers. Balancing the blade lightly, he gave it an expert toss. The sound of metal burying itself into the wood was satisfying.

Not as satisfying as stabbing, let's say, Grady would be. But it took a bit of the edge off.

He threw his other two, then walked over to the tree to retrieve them. When he turned to go back to his throwing spot, he jumped and cursed luridly.

"Ladies," he said once he recovered from the shock, bowing low to the two elves who had apparently followed him. "To what do I owe the considerable pleasure?"

"Aideen," the one with the curls said. She gestured to the blonde. "Aednat." With a small smile, she added, "You've been busy, so you hadn't gotten a chance to introduce yourself to us."

"Indeed," Zevran agreed, his heart pounding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. Something about her manner made him feel like he was fourteen all over again, setting back his seduction skills. Well, it would not do to let her know that, would it? "I beg your forgiveness for my poor manners."

"No worries," Aideen assured him. "It's understandable. There's a lot to be done. And you've done so much already."

"We thought you looked like you needed a distraction," Aednat commented, twirling a lock of blonde hair that had escaped the intricate braids she wore. Even in the darkness, Zevran could see her deep blush.

Dear Maker, were they going to offer one of themselves to him just like that? Normally a huge fan of the chase, he was surprised to find his blood running hot at the idea that these two warrior elves would so blatantly, so confidently, approach him. No thoughts of rejection whatsoever.

Feeling much more comfortable addressing Aednat, as she was coyly shy, the assassin replied, "How thoughtful of you ladies. However, I seem to be at a loss. I would not dream of offending by choosing one over the other. Perhaps you should make the choice yourselves…or perhaps you already have."

Aideen's eyes flashed. "Who said anything about choosing?"

Aednat smiled and pulled a few pins out of her hair. With a shake, the massive waterfall of blonde tresses cascaded down.

Zevran was astonished that so few pins could hold the entire thing up _and was that actually what he was thinking about right now?_ His whole body quivered, and without turning around, he drove his three throwing knives into the tree behind him. Anywhere to put the things, anything to free up his hands.

Aideen came to him first, and the kiss she laid on his lips threatened to drown him in power and sensuality. As Zevran kissed her like his life depended on it, he felt delicate teeth nibble the skin of his neck. Reaching blindly, he buried his fingers in Aednat's smooth, thick hair.

He could no longer differentiate who's hands belonged to whom, and when he felt his leather armor start to be peeled away, it was with an alacrity he wasn't used to. Calloused, battle-worn hands slid across his bare chest, making his breath hiss between his teeth.

Andraste's generosity knew no bounds, apparently.

* * *

When the crushing despair had finally lessened, when she'd finally run out of tears, she raised her head a bit. Pushing her face against his neck, she let out a shaking breath. "Thank you."

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing past her eyes. "Just happy I could be here for you."

"I must look a mess," she said, suddenly self-conscious. She patted ineffectually at her tear-swollen face. Maker, it felt twice its normal size. And patting wasn't going to cut it. Between tears and all the garbage coming out of her nose, she was going to need a cloth the size of a bed sheet.

"You're always beautiful, no matter what. Here, use my robe," he said, offering his sleeve.

"Oh, Anders, I couldn't. I'll ruin it," she protested.

"I don't mind. Besides, you've already cried all over the front, why spare the poor thing?" he said, smiling.

Feeling utterly silly, she used his sleeve to wipe her face off. Finally, she could breathe through her nose again. "Thank you," she said again.

"You don't have to keep thanking me. I'd, ah, I'd do anything for you." He cleared his throat roughly, suddenly finding the leaf-littered ground very interesting.

Leliana felt a sudden urge to feel _some_ joy, to push the despair back that much further until it lost so much footing that she could hold her own against it again. "Anything?" she purred.

The mage's head snapped up, and he dropped the hand that had been rubbing the back of his neck. "Anything," he whispered. Swallowing again, he reached out a tentative hand toward her cheek.

Leliana was not in the mood for tentative.

Snatching his hand, she used it to pull him toward her. He came forward with surprise, but the growled groan that slipped out when she licked her tongue against the thumping vein that lead to his heart was filled with nothing but desire. His hand snaked around her, fingers digging into her back.

"Look at me," he commanded gently, and Leliana obliged, lifting her head to stare up into his piercing eyes.

When he kissed her and slid his hands to the small of her back, pressing her against robes that blessedly hid _nothing_ from her, Leliana couldn't help the moan of pleasure that somehow made it out between their lips.


	23. Path of an Arrow

**Sorry this chapter took so long. I was nervous about a few of the scenes, and so I was avoiding them. Don't forget snacks, it's another doozy :)  
**

* * *

Alistair scrubbed a dirty hand across his bleary eyes as he stared at the fire. He gave it a mutinous poke for good measure. Sparks flew in response. Glancing up, he saw sunlight starting to pierce the heavy foliage. Good. The night was over, more time had passed. Closer to the drug fading from Lorelai's blood, closer to freeing her.

Jacob snorted in his sleep, the mabari's head draped over Alistair's lap. The puddle of drool on his boot had been slowly growing, to the point that it now covered his entire heel. No matter; company was company.

And as he seemed to be the only one who was short on company, he wasn't going to complain about what he had to choose from. As he gave the dog a reassuring pat on the head, Oghren's rumbling snore drifted up from one of the lean-tos.

All right, maybe not the _only_ one short on company.

After everyone had dispersed to their…activities, Alistair had settled himself by the fire. No one had mentioned anything about posting a watch, but their minds were understandably elsewhere. And seeing as how they'd been putting up with him in one fashion or another for this nightmare, he figured they all deserved some time to themselves

A rumpled red head appeared in the shadows of the darkened entrance to a lean-to. Ah, leave it to the bard and the mage to manage to sneak to shelter without him noticing. Their stealth didn't make him worry that he hadn't been alert enough. They'd been around the rock face, closer to the lean-tos than he was now. Easy to get inside the last one.

Leliana was trying to smooth her hair down, and it wasn't working very well. She grinned over her shoulder, and a small brush appeared out of nowhere. The bard made a comical face, pulling what Alistair assumed were long, blond hairs out of bristles. She received a gentle shove for her attitude, but was yanked back into the darkness of the lean-to a few moments later.

The strange, jungle birds were the only noise for a while. The dog in his lap snuffled, rubbing a paw against his nose. Alistair rubbed behind his ear until he quieted again. He didn't want the silence broken, not just yet. When everyone woke, there'd be chatter and embarrassment and plans and _muck_. He'd rather just sit and listen to his blood move for a bit.

And maybe, just a little bit, envision ways to _repay_ Anora for daring to threaten what was his.

Nathaniel and Sigrun's dark-haired heads emerged from a lean-to next. Their tender awkwardness the previous night had been bittersweet. Alistair was happy for their connection, but their nervousness and blush-ridden moments had reminded him too much of how he'd been with Lorelai when they'd first met.

The archer, bare-chested, stood up first, and then offered his lady a hand up. She took it with a shy smile, and stood. Her full height only brought her to the level of his chest, which seemed to be a perfect place to her, as she leaned forward to embrace her fellow Warden, laying her cheek in the vicinity of his heart.

Nathaniel smiled with what seemed to be a little bit of awe as he returned her embrace.

Alistair's throat tightened in a jerk. He darted his eyes away, back to the fire.

_Have I taught you nothing about eavesdropping? You do it with your _ears_, love. You wouldn't have seen that if you hadn't been looking._

He cleared his throat as quietly as possible. The Lorelai-voice was right, of course. He knew that. He'd found himself guiltily paralyzed by their love, however, unable to look away.

His precious silence was about to end. They might be inhabiting their own little private world at the moment, but that didn't make them literally blind. Any second now they would-

"Your Majesty!" Sigrun's alarmed voice blurted out. Nathaniel let out a muffled curse.

-notice him.

Jacob started awake with a woof, tongue flopping out of the side of his mouth.

Suppressing a sigh at his lost peace, Alistair turned and gave the horrified pair a warm smile. "Good morning, you two," he said, even managing to infect the words with a touch of lecherousness.

Sigrun blushed immediately. "Have you been out here…all night?" she squeaked.

"Oh, yes," Alistair drawled. "Just keeping watch. Minding my own business." He gave her a knowing wink. "As much as I could, at any rate."

The dwarf swallowed, her eyes blinking entirely too often. She turned her humiliated gaze on Nathaniel, and blanched. "_Put some clothes on_!" she hissed. The archer jumped and ducked quickly into the lean-to.

Alistair couldn't help but laugh. This banter reminded him of the Blight, except he and Lorelai had been the victims; Zevran, Leliana, Oghren and even Shale on occasion the tormentors.

"I'm teasing you, Sigrun," he said, attempting to spare her any more agony. "Don't be embarrassed."

"Oh, yes," she agreed sarcastically. "That should do it. Hmm, why do I still feel like I want to crawl in a hole and _die_?"

He laughed again, just as rustling from his left made him turn his head. Zevran, Aednat, and Aideen emerged from the nearby jungle. The assassin had an arm around each of their waists, and the ladies helpfully pushed the overhanging branches out of the way.

Even though he'd assumed as much when both women had disappeared and neither had returned, Alistair still couldn't help choking a little in shock. Well, if any man could handle two women, it was Zevran. And he appeared to be doing a fair job of it even now.

Maker's breath, the former Crow had guts.

"Aideen?" Sigrun blurted out, her voice a few pitches higher than normal. "Aednat?"

Oh, right. He'd been the only one who'd known. Other than the participants, of course. And that was probably his cue to leave.

"Morning, Sigrun," Aideen answered nonchalantly and Aednat waved a blissful greeting as Alistair got to his feet.

Leliana stuck her head out of her lean-to, and Anders' came out a second later. "Oh, how lovely," she said with approval as she saw the trio of elves. She glanced at Anders. "Close your mouth, dear. It's impolite to gape."

The mage's jaw slammed shut loudly.

Fighting the urge to laugh some more, Alistair managed to say, "Since I stayed up all night making sure we weren't overrun by jungle creatures, I think I'll get some sleep." Jacob followed him to an empty lean-to. Before he ducked inside, he gave Leliana and Zevran pointed looks. All teasing in his voice vanished as he said, "When I get up, I'd like something resembling a plan, please."

The pair nodded solemnly.

As Alistair curled up inside the lean-to, punching the blankets into a better shape, he sighed heavily. Jacob's heavy body thudded against him, temporarily squishing his ribcage and knocking his breath out in a gust. He inched backwards, giving himself a few extra inches of breathing room.

Sleeping until nightfall, and until something resembling a plan emerged, seemed like the greatest idea he'd ever come up with.

* * *

"So," Anders began, "you and the solemn, brooding son of Rendon Howe, hmm?"

Sigrun shot the mage a look as she bent down, grabbing another stick to add to her growing armload of firewood. A rush of warmth filled her chest anyway; regardless of the glare she gave her fellow Warden. Quickly followed by a spill of guilt for finding such happiness while the Commander was trapped in that fortress. While the King had been forced to…listen. "What about it?"

"Nothing, of course. Just tickled pink to see you kids happy." He sniffed theatrically. "Brings joy to this old heart."

Sigrun smirked. "I could say the same for you and your pretty bard." She wiggled her eyebrows for good measure.

For such a reputed ladies' man, Anders turned a satisfying shade of red. He cleared his throat, "Yes, ah, well…"

Laughing, the dwarf glanced around them and quickly sobered. "We should be heading back. It's getting dark, and all these Stone-damned trees look the same."

Anders grinned wickedly. "I wonder how long it would take your dashing archer to come look for you if we became lost."

"Like Leliana wouldn't come searching for you?" she countered.

"Maker's breath, no!" he exclaimed. "She'd want to punish me for being silly enough to get lost in the first place."

"True. We should definitely be going then." They began making their way back, armfuls of wood their prizes to be brought before the camp, when Sigrun's feet stuttered to a stop, her breath catching in her throat.

"What is it?" Anders asked.

She shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. In this foreign jungle, this place of alien sounds and smells and sights, of perpetual _noise_…everything had gone silent. The shrilling birds. The chorus of thousands of insects. All replaced by suffocating quiet.

Someone was here.

Sigrun's mind raced. How close were they? How many? It didn't matter. They'd all have to be killed to stop them from reporting back to the fortress. Even then, eventually their absence would be noticed, and their cover – the element of surprise that was their only advantage – would be lost.

Trying to focus through the thick trees, she was desperate for a glimpse of the camp's fire. There was nothing to be seen through the dense underbrush. No idea how far they were from their companions. Would a shout of warning carry?

"Sigrun-"

They were on them in a blink.

The former legionnaire dropped her armload of wood and drew her blades as the mercenaries leapt from the darkness like wraiths. Anders followed suit, a spell that Sigrun didn't recognize forming between his hands in a spiraling mist of color.

The light thrown off by the spell was just enough that Sigrun could see the man descend on Anders from behind…with no way to stop it.

The blow that barreled into the back of the mage's head made her guts spasm. With a war cry, she plunged a blade into the man's chest as Anders crumpled, the spell vanishing and plunging her back into darkness.

Her blade slid free as the mercenary fell, and his blood spurted across her face. She stood over Anders, and brandished her swords at the myriad of shadow-clad figures before her. If the camp could hear her, her battle cry would've reached them. But for good measure, and because it gave her a perverse pleasure that his name was _hers_ to call, she shouted at the top of her lungs.

"_Nathaniel_!"

* * *

_Lorelai blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes. Where was she? What was happening? The world around her flickered like a torch in a strong wind. A rush of green, of depth and shape, alternating with a grey nothingness, barren and cool._

_ "I tell you – careful – is the mess – get in!"_

_ Lorelai jumped in shock. "Morrigan?"_

_ The mage was suddenly before her. She snatched the archer's hands, only to vanish into the grey miasma. Then she was back, and the world of green held for a few moments, only to dissolve again._

_ The green. It was the dream garden. That was where Morrigan was. The grey was…Ranger's Reins._

_ "Help – Focus, you – woman!" the mage's fractured voice demanded._

_ Lorelai clenched her jaw and _pushed_ at the greyness. Miraculously, it retreated under her onslaught, leaving a portion of Morrigan's garden before her, an oasis of vibrancy in a seething fog. The luscious plants and giant flowers were a welcome sight. _

_ "By all the Gods there have ever been!" Morrigan half-shouted. "How is it that even with your womb filled to the brim with child you _still_ manage to get into a catastrophe of this proportion?" Without waiting for an answer, which was good because Lorelai was too stunned to speak, the witch continued, "And then you _reject _rescue! After everything Brighid and I have manipulated to get you the aid you require!"_

_ "Yes, clearly, because I planned this!" Lorelai snapped back, before gasping in delight. In this place of dreams, her words and tongue were unfettered. It was glorious. But that was beside the point at the moment. "And what do you mean 'reject rescue'?"_

_ Morrigan didn't acknowledge that she'd spoken. She released her hands, and paced nearby in a tight, furious circle. "Sustaining that son of a madman Howe when he would have collapsed from exhaustion! Pointing that brainless elf in the direction of that prostitute, who he would have waltzed right on by! Nudging your little traitor's traitor to give that foul pirate woman the location!" The raven-haired woman let out a feral snarl, then pointed an accusing finger at the archer. "This is not simple, you can imagine."_

_ Lorelai's mind spun. Leliana and Zevran hadn't told her all the details of everything apparently, because parts of Morrigan's rant made no sense. But she could sort that out later. "Forgive me for being _such_ an inconvenience to you," she spat, spreading her arms in mock-apology. "I'll make sure to never get kidnapped by a lovelorn political zealot and Andraste only knows who else again!"_

_ Morrigan snorted in response, but the tempest of her outburst seemed to have passed. "Well, the plan of that idiot assassin and that moronic bard is at least working in part," the apostate acknowledged. "The vile drug is indeed leaving your system, since I've managed a connection with you."_

_ "Don't talk about them like that," Lorelai scolded as clean, un-drugged anger spiked through her. "How can you-"_

_ "They left you in this Gods-forsaken place!" Morrigan interrupted. "You could have fought your way to the outside easily! You could have-"_

_ "Oh, battle plans from the _witch_, hmm? The witch who told me to be _careful_, I might add!" Lorelai shot back. "I told them to leave me! I didn't think it was-"_

_ "I did not exempt you from this stupidity, did I? You bear the guilt even more than the pair of them! Shamelessly exerting your authority when you know they will bow to your every command!"_

_ Ah, so that was how she was "rejecting rescue". Well, Morrigan could think what she liked. More importantly, the fact that she was shrieking in this manner indicated something much more important to the Warden: Morrigan was extremely worried. It made her feel better and worse. Better that the witch really cared…but worse that things were bad enough to make Morrigan worry._

_ "Enough," Lorelai said into the quiet left by Morrigan's last accusation. They wouldn't stop if they kept this up. "One day, we can shout at each other about this until our blood curdles, but now is _not_ the time for it."_

_ Morrigan's shoulders stiffened and she seized the Warden's hands again. "Of that you are too correct." She paused momentarily. "Lorelai, they've been discovered."_

_ "Who?" she demanded, even as her heart turned to ice. Like she needed to ask._

_ "Your gallant rescue party." Morrigan managed to keep the sneer from her face. "These imbecilic mercenaries are completely out of control. A gang of them left the fortress, bored and looking for innocent animals to slaughter in all likelihood, and they practically stumbled onto the camp."_

_ Lorelai felt her knees go loose, and she sank to the green-and-gray splattered ground. "How many is a 'gang'?" she asked, looking up at her former companion._

_ The apostate's face darkened but held firm. "They are holding their own. Their frilly, pet mage is unconscious, making things more difficult. But they will be fine." Pulling, Morrigan hauled her back to her feet. "Everything's chaos in the fortress." She gave Lorelai a fierce smile. "None of them expected company, and all the mercenaries are up in arms. Your Keep is on the way, he's managed to acquire the keys." Morrigan squeezed her hands painfully. "Get out of here, Lorelai. Whatever it takes."_

_ Lorelai nodded slowly, feeling very sick to her stomach, especially at the knowledge that Anders was unconscious. She told herself firmly that they were all superb fighters. Everything _would be_ fine. "Do you know who's behind this? Can you see-?"_

_ "No," Morrigan answered bitterly. "I can see you because I am connected to you, and I can see your friends because _they_ are connected to you. But the filthy creature behind this…I can sense no connection to you, and so I cannot see."_

_ "_Our _friends," Lorelai corrected even as metallic fear fill her mouth. The mystery of everything was finally starting to erode the walls of her self control. Who? Why? The most important unanswered questions of her life. In her womb, the child shifted in response to her distress. _

_ The apostate ignored her correction and laid her hands on the Warden's stomach and brought her reptilian eyes close. "Be strong, _my_ friend…for your son."_

_ Her mind shattered into little, tiny sparks of light._

_ "Son?" she whispered when she remembered how to make her tongue form words again._

_ "Son," Morrigan echoed firmly, smiling that fierce smile that was almost a baring of teeth again. "A _King_, Lorelai. Worthy of the bloodline that produced him."_

_ Lorelai laughed in a giddy, overwhelming burst. Son. King._

_ "Now, go," Morrigan said. "Your Keep is almost here. He'll let you out and then-"_

_ "To the battlements," came a small, musical voice._

_ Lorelai's ecstatic revere broke as her eyes snapped down to Morrigan's side. There, staring at up her with piercing amber eyes set in a face of perfect milky skin surrounded by a river of black hair, was the God-child. Urthemiel reincarnated. Brighid._

_ "The battlements?" Morrigan questioned. "No, treasure, Lorelai needs to escape."_

_ "No, she must go to the battlements," the child responded. Reaching up, she patted Lorelai's wrist gently. "The battlements," she said again, as if that explained everything._

_ It was only through force of will that Lorelai kept her feet. When the girl had touched her, immense power had pulsed through Lorelai with all the subtly of a lightning bolt. Now, in a picture of childhood innocence, she clung to Morrigan's leather skirts, bashfully pressing her face against them. Andraste blessed sword… _

_ Morrigan looked down at the child for a few heartbeats before turning her yellow eyes to Lorelai. "You should…go to the battlements," she said with a hard swallow. "I do not like it. It is much too dangerous. But…" she paused and looked down at her child again, "I think it would be a mistake to ignore her. She, ah, very rarely does this."_

_ She nodded, taking a few steps backward away from the pair._

_ "Wake up," Morrigan whispered as Lorelai closed her eyes._

Her eyes flew open to the frantic sound of metal jangling against more metal. A key in the lock. She pushed herself to her feet just as the door swung open and a rough, wild-eyed man practically stumbled in.

His dark hair was longish, but it didn't seem to be on purpose, as it swung into his eyes, giving him the look of a mangy sheepdog. Light armor that was worn and old, but well cared for, covered his lean-muscled frame. No juggernaut on the field, not this man. Not like Alistair was. But a warrior, nonetheless.

He stared at her for a moment, and she stared right back.

"Your Majesty," he finally answered, dropping to one knee and lowering his eyes.

She wanted to run to him, but she forced herself to remain still.

When he raised his eyes, there was an approving smile on his face. Getting to his feet, he inclined his head slightly. "Keep," he said, touching his armor-covered chest lightly.

"Oh, Andraste," she blurted out in relief. "I could kiss you right now."

He coughed in embarrassment. "Let's…not do that. Although, I'm probably up for execution anyway, so what's a little inappropriate conduct with the Queen at this point?"

She laughed, and covered the distance between them. Staring up into his green eyes, she poked a finger at his chest and triumphantly hissed, "Execution? I'll see you made a _knight_ for this."

He let out a snort of laughter. "Let's get you out of here first. I know the drug makes you slow, do you need me to carry you?" He paused then, and looked at her strangely. "Just now, when you were talking, you didn't stumble through your words."

Damn! She'd been so surprised; she hadn't thought to keep her words thick and slow. "I haven't been eating the food," she said, no need to include that she'd had other things to eat. She may trust Keep, but her friends had not signed up for the same trust. She would not tell him a thing about their presence. "I was trying to flush the drug out."

"Clever girl," he said. Pulling a long dagger out of his belt, he slapped it into her open hand. "I imagine you know how to use that."

"Yes," she whispered, feeling the weight of the weapon in her palm. The primal urge to shed blood was thick and hot in her chest, and the base desire for revenge was right on its heels.

"Come on," he reached for her hand, sticking his head out the door and glancing into the hallway. "Everyone's all in a tizzy. Apparently there were some people here, and they're putting up quite the fight."

_Battlements. _

Lorelai went still. She could not go with him.

He snorted, still examining the empty hallway. "Daft morons. What were they doing out of the fortress, anyway? I hope those people out there slaughter the lot of them."

She almost laughed. On that, they could wholeheartedly agree.

Keep turned to her finally, waving his empty hand impatiently. "Come on, my lady."

"Wait, there's something-" She feigned indecision, stepping a pace away from him. She needed him closer. And surprised. As long as he was surprised, she could pull this off.

"What is it?" he asked immediately, coming back into her cell and approaching her.

The heartfelt concern in his voice made her feel doubly guilty for what she was about to do. "It's just…" She lowered her eyes to the floor, as if she were nervous. When he stepped even closer, Lorelai punched him solidly in the jaw. She connected beautifully, just like Alistair had taught her.

He dropped to the ground like a stone.

"Forgive me," she whispered. In sudden insight, she snatched the keys from him. This way, when she was recaptured, which she no doubt would be by heading to the battlements, Keep would not be implicated in her escape. They could think she jumped him.

Already he was coming around, arms and legs twitching convulsively. Her mouth went dry at the way his body shook, like he was under some twisted spell.

_That's supposed to happen! Move it, girl!_

Sparing Keep another apologetic gaze, she left the cell and swung the massive door shut. With trembling hands, she shoved the lock shut with a jarring _click_. There, now he'd be safely out of trouble. She started down the corridor quickly.

Now that she was alone, she could truly inspect what she had to work with. Her gait was smooth. Well, as smooth as it could be, considering her pregnancy. Her body no longer trembled uncontrollably like a forest mouse, and her thoughts were clear. It wasn't perfect; the previous day's hours were a bit of a mess in her internal timeline. But leaps and bounds better than she had been.

Cautiously, breath catching in terrified anticipation, she reached for that part of herself that spoke with animals. The part that she always thought was a bit animal itself, the part that made her ruthless and practical. She felt around in her own mind like a person in a pitch black room, looking for the matches.

The darkness of her mind was suddenly lit with flickering sparks, a swarm of fireflies trapped in the windowless room with her. She could _sense them_. But…none of the lights held. They danced out of her grasp, fleeing her touch. She couldn't even tell what animals they were…just that they were there.

She stopped walking and squeezed her eyes shut in fury and despair. Andraste damn Grady to the most darkspawn-infested cave in all of Thedas. Well, it was not to be helped. Not right now. More time, she just needed more time.

Opening her eyes, she very nearly cursed out loud. Where exactly did she think she was going? Obviously, to the battlements, but _where_? She didn't need to be wandering around aimlessly.

Lorelai felt a tugging on her mind, a pull to keep walking down this hallway. Like a string rolled out before her, she could see the finish line in her mind. It would lead her to her goal unerringly.

Morrigan.

Taking a deep breath, Lorelai followed the gentle lure through the fortress. Up to the battlements.

* * *

Alistair resettled his grip on his sword and stood his ground. He didn't like it, this was _not_ his normal job in battle, but he was the most capable of defending Anders' unconscious body. Swinging his shield around in a flashing arc, he deflected an opportunistic strike. A great overhand stroke of his blade gave the man something else to think about…like how his blood was now gushing out of his body.

Well, he'd had to practically shove Leliana away to get this job, so he'd be damned if he was going to fail at it.

Jacob, who remained by his side like a furry bur, lashed out. He grabbed the man's thigh in his formidable jaws and wrenched him to the ground before tearing his throat out.

Alistair let out a shaky breath. There was nothing _quite_ like a mabari at your side.

Everyone had fanned out around him in a circle, keeping his precious Kingly self and the mage in the middle. The battle was going well, considering how badly they'd been taken by surprise, and how only half of them had their armor on.

_Not that __that __was stopping anyone_, he thought as Oghren cackled wildly, swinging his battleaxe in devastating, sweeping motions. The dwarf was clad in just his linens, and he barely seemed to notice.

Maker's breath, one would think being woken up by a companion's frenzied battle cry _once_ per lifetime would be enough. And he'd filled that quota during the Blight, thank you very much.

In his stifling, driving-him-slowly-mad position of near safety in the center, Alistair had the chance to observe everything. He blinked in surprise; was this what Lorelai saw all the time? In the back, as the archer? It was…interesting. He could catalogue everyone's injuries, watch the advance and retreat of battle lines, of ground given and taken back.

It was under control. Amazingly so. Baring these idiots pulling a mage out of their back pocket (and what was his Templar training for if not to handle things like that?), he thought the fight would be over soon. Their numbers were certainly dwindling.

He frowned, grinding his teeth together. They'd deal with the implications of being found later.

* * *

Lorelai drove the dagger deep between the man's ribs from behind. High on his left side. The reverberations as the blade sliced through his heart ran down the weapon and through her wrist. His longbow dropped from his twitching hands, and he collapsed a moment later. She'd managed to stay out of the way mostly, but his blood washed her left arm in a scarlet sleeve.

That was it. There had only been a few men up here, and she'd killed them all silently and quickly. Zevran would be bursting with pride when she told him.

The wind was strong up here, buffeting her against the stone. Careful of her belly, she leaned in between the merlons, peering out into the darkness. Her body stilled, the adrenaline of killing the men fading, and in the silence she heard the sounds of battle. Her eyes honed in on where her ears told her the sound was coming from. It all of sudden jumped out at her, as if it were bathed in the light of day.

Her friends were in a loose ring, fighting in small groups. Sigrun and Nathaniel fought near each other, and he had forgone his bow in favor of two daggers. He was not nearly as proficient as Sigrun, however. It was well-balanced anyway, as Sigrun fought in the warrior's style while Nathaniel snuck around behind her distracted targets.

Lorelai's lips twitched as she watched their dance, and she good-naturedly cursed herself that she'd never noticed their attraction before. She must be slipping.

Oghren charged around in wild circles, swinging his battle axe in huge, mowing arcs. Leliana stuck with him, attempting to make sure no one stabbed the berserk dwarf in the back. She was doing a fair job of it.

Zevran and the "twins" were a thing of beauty. Lorelai always found herself mesmerized by Aednat and Aideen, and this night was no exception. The pair made death a song, and Zevran added to their duet just made it all the more beautiful. She nearly choked at the way the assassin watched their backs. More than good tactics, more than companionably concern. Well, well. Love was in the air, it seemed. Or at the very least, lust.

Ah, to have her brain properly functioning at last. She would never take it for granted again.

Speaking of love…

She saw him, and couldn't take a breath for several seconds. There he was. Husband. Lover. King to her Queen. Father to her son. The first face to cut through her haze of grief after the death of her entire family. The first, and only, man to have complete and total knowledge of her body.

It was only then that a dark part of herself admitted she'd thought she'd never see him again.

Alistair was in the middle of the circle, of all places. The frustration and helplessness of it were surely pushing him towards insanity as he was forced to sit back and wait for someone to slip past the outer edge. She prayed the fight ended soon, before that frustration led him to do something reckless. Pacing before him, like a diligent bodyguard, was her beloved Jacob. Hale and whole.

Tears of joy threatened to overwhelm her, but a glint in the darkness pushed all her emotions away.

The fighting was dying down. The fortress didn't seem to be sending out any more to continue the skirmish. No honor among mercenaries; they'd let those who'd made the mistake of getting into a battle pay for their error. Practical…if heartless.

But hidden in the bushes, beyond the edge of the circle, was someone. He was poised directly behind Alistair. Neither Jacob or Alistair had sensed him, they were too keenly focused on the battle before him. No one else around the rim had, either. They were too occupied in their own personal fights.

She saw the blade in his hands, and even from this distance she could tell it was balanced for throwing.

Fearfully, she hauled on her ranger senses with all her power. If she could just reach Jacob, get him to turn around. Normally she never used her abilities on her mabari; there was no need. He was like an extension of her body, a weapon cast from her like one of her bolts.

She felt a fizzled flashing, like a fire doused in water, but nothing else. Nothing that even felt like Jacob. No cord to tie him to her.

The danger remained hidden in the darkness, unnoticed by anyone on the field..

Lorelai looked down at the cooling body of the man beside her, and snatched the longbow. A quick feel around in the shadows found the quiver, and she drew a long, fetched arrow. Like a skill never quite forgotten, she coolly notched the arrow and drew back on the bow.

Her shoulder and back muscles protested instantly. By the armies of Andraste, it had been ages since she'd shot a longbow. She'd long ago turned her favor to the crossbow and its fierce, thick bolts.

No time to consider the implications of her rusty skills or questionable aim with a weapon she'd lost familiarity with. She sighted down the arrow, even as it and the bow began to tremble slightly with the quaking of her body.

Lorelai inhaled slowly, forcing a calm she did not truly feel. The beat of her heart thudded through her body, adding to the instability of the bow and its missile. She exhaled, then let one more heartbeat shake her.

The man tensed, and drew back his arm for the throw.

She released. The arrow disappeared into the darkness, vanishing from her sight. What she _did_ see was the man slump suddenly, collapsing down into the bushes he'd been hiding in.

Alistair spun, sensing the man's death as he had not sensed his life. He spun again, facing toward the fortress, his whole body strained and intent. Searching.

She willed him to see her. If just an ounce of recognition came over his face, it would be-

Lorelai was grabbed from behind by strong, rough arms and dragged away from the battlements. She let out a primal scream of fury.

Now she prayed he hadn't seen her at all.

* * *

He heard a grunt of pain, following by thick curse. He turned quickly, frantically. Whoever was behind him was close. Too close. But to his shock, he didn't see an enemy poised to strike. Instead, he saw a mercenary crumpling; an arrow buried in his chest like it had erupted from his torso instead of being embedded there by someone else.

Nathaniel wasn't using his bow. He'd snatched the daggers instead in the mad rush out of the camp, too concerned for his Sigrun to think clearly. So, who had shot the mercenary?

Turning again, he felt his eyes pulled up toward the fortress. On the distant battlements was a figure. Slight of build…with a billowing curtain of hair carried on the wind.

His heart stopped. Well and truly stopped.

"Lorelai," he whispered. It was no one else. He could feel it ringing in his bones like his body had become a gigantic bell.

Then the men came up behind her, snatching her and dragging her away from the battlements. _Away from him_. A scream, her scream, floated down, fading as the wind pulled it to pieces.

"_Lorelai!_" he howled as something inside him snapped. Everything faded, drowning in his rage. He was dimly aware of his feet carrying him towards the fortress in a barreling run.

"Zevran!" someone shouted, a desperate plea.

He barely noticed the flash of pain that cut across his neck, or the flow of blood. He could not help but notice, however, when his legs turned to jelly beneath him and he collapsed forward. His arms refused to move, leaving him defenseless as he fell face-first into the dirt. Unconsciousness opened it mouth and swallowed him whole.


	24. Two Hours

**Sorry this chapter took so long! I tried really, really hard to get it done before Dragon Age 2 came out...and that didn't happen. And then the game took over my life, lol, and it was only after I finished my first playthrough that I was like, "Fanfiction? Oh yeah..." AND THEN, that stupid error 2 message had me stumped. Thanks to Effiron for posting the solution, you're the best!  
**

**Some of my *cough*co-workers*cough* have demanded a part in this story, and I couldn't help but accommodate them. You don't see them this chapter, but they're there :P  
**

* * *

"Was it…_really_ necessary?" Sigrun asked into the heavy silence, even though she didn't actually disagree. She just felt like _someone_ should at least attempt to protest the fact that they'd knocked the King of Ferelden out with drugs. Again.

Zevran gave her a patient look from where he was seated opposite her, but it was Oghren who answered, "Listen, girl, I don't like the foppy elf, either, but that weren't nothin' but mercy."

"Ah, Oghren, I have missed your smelly company, truly," Zevran drawled.

The dwarf ignored the assassin and looked up at her from sharpening his axe, his bleary eyes as serious as they could be. "You saw her, didn't ya?"

"I saw her," snapped Sigrun, and Nathaniel rubbed her back in soothing circles. They'd all seen her. The fight had been nearly finished, and when the King had spun around to see the slain would-be assassin behind him, everyone had noticed in one way or another. Then, you just had to follow the King's line of sight to see what he saw. Although by the time Sigrun had looked, she'd just seen the shadow of her Commander being hauled away by unseen hands.

"He will wake no worse for wear, I assure you," Zevran told her gently. He drew the sliver of a knife from where it hid on his belt. He tossed it into the air, catching it carefully. "Just a sleeping agent." He grinned suddenly, and waggled the blade at her. "You look tired, perhaps you could use a nap, as well. Just a tiny prick, you will wake up feeling quite refreshed."

"_Not_ funny, Zevran," Nathaniel said, his hand stopping mid-motion on her back.

"Is that what you're going to tell the King when he gets up?" she sassed as she patted Nathaniel's knee.

"Perhaps." His grin grew more wicked, if that was possible. "Go take your archer somewhere, my dear, before he kills me with his glares of death."

Sigrun turned to look at Nathaniel, who was indeed trying to kill the former Crow through sheer eye contact. "Come on," she urged, yanking him to his feet. As they approached the line of lean-tos, Leliana emerged from one. Weariness showed in every line of the bard's body. "How's Anders?" Sigrun asked.

"He'll be on his feet in a few hours," she answered, a small smile of thanks on her lips. She half-turned, calling over her shoulder, "Which is, of course, sooner than I would like, but the stubborn mage refuses to lay down any longer than that!"

A thick string of curses greeted this statement from the lean-to.

"With that language, I'd say he's fine," Sigrun said.

"Thank you…for his life, Sigrun," Leliana said quietly, all traces of humor gone from her delicate face.

Sigrun blanched. What had she done, besides holler at the top of her lungs for help? If anything, she was to _blame _for the entire fiasco. But Leliana looked so tired Sigrun didn't have the heart to argue. Nodding, she ducked into the lean-to she and Nathaniel shared.

The archer settled down, and patted the ground next to him in invitation. Sigrun was happy to oblige. "You can't fool me, you know," he said out of nowhere.

"What?" she asked, tensing immediately.

He laughed a little, self-deprecatingly. "I've spent this entire time blaming myself for the Commander's abduction, so I'm pretty good at telling when other people are blaming themselves for things." He reached out and touched her cheek. "The fight was not your fault."

"How can you say that?" she whispered, even while a secret part of her cursed the perception brought on by lover's attentiveness. "I should've been paying attention, been looking for them."

"Zevran and I have been here for quite a while." He screwed up his face comically. "Lost track of how long, really. In that time, though, they hadn't sent out so much as a scouting party. We had no reason to think they'd start traipsing around _now_."

"But Anders-"

"You kept him safe until we got there," he interrupted. "No one could have done more."

She glared at him. "I'm getting nowhere in this conversation, am I?"

"Nowhere," Nathaniel told her. "Backwards, in fact."

"Good to know," she snorted.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," he said abruptly, snatching her hands in a sudden jerk. "When I heard you screaming my name…I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I thought-"

"I'm sorry," she said, fighting the urge to squirm. She hated that she was the cause of his distress. But his worry curled a warm, little tendril through her stomach. "I knew you'd save me," she said, squeezing his hands tightly.

His eyes filled with…something. "I don't know if your faith is touching or intimidating."

"Definitely touching." She gave him a quick kiss to prove her point.

He reached up as she tried to lean away, pulling her back in for another kiss. "Touching, you say?" he murmured against her lips.

"Touching," she repeated, but he practically swallowed her words as he kissed her. She couldn't help the sigh of pleasure, and had to bite back a moan as he very nearly purred in response, his chest vibrating under her hands.

How quiet could they be? One way to find out.

Sigrun slid her hands up, reaching for the clasps to his leather armor. Some of her bruises protested, but no matter. In fact, besides Anders, they'd all managed to keep their injuries to shallow cuts and bruises. Not a bad job for being taken completely off guard-

A short, furious roar that sounded like an angry bear made Sigrun jump out of Nathaniel's arms. It was _very _nearby. There was another bellow, followed a great racket of armor segments scattering around.

"Oh, Maker," Nathaniel groaned, and shoved himself out the lean-to. Sigrun was right behind him.

They emerged in time to see the King standing over Zevran, rage pouring off his body like water, shoulders shaking, chest heaving with every breath. He was no less imposing without his armor on.

Jacob was pressing his body against the King's legs, pushing backwards with every bit of his considerable strength, but the Warden didn't budge. Leliana had frozen on the opposite side of the fire, which was probably a testament to how tired she was. Anders had managed to haul himself out of his lean-to, pale-faced and swaying slightly on his feet. Oghren had placed his axe casually on the ground, and simply watched. Sigrun was shocked at his level-headedness.

Zevran, to his credit, merely looked up at the enraged monarch like he wasn't towering over the elf with murder in his eyes. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" the assassin asked solicitously.

"_Don't_ be flippant with me right now," the King snarled. His hand came up, and his fingers twitched at the bandage on his neck.

"You could have done nothing, my friend, save get yourself killed," Zevran responded quietly. "Take comfort in the fact that the drug's influence is clearly fading. She would not have been able to make that shot otherwise."

"Take comfort," he echoed in a hollow voice. He abruptly glanced at the sun, then drilled his eyes back into the elf. "You have two hours. If you don't give me a satisfactory plan by then, I'm offering myself in exchange for her freedom."

"Alistair," Leliana said, aghast. "You can't be serious. They want to assassinate you both! Offering yourself will do nothing except make that goal all the easier to accomplish!"

"Maybe the information's wrong," he snapped, turning to direct his wrath at her. "Maybe-"

"If it _is_ wrong, and Grady _is _in charge, then you won't get her back until you surrender the crown!" Leliana retorted. "Think, Alistair, please!"

"They already know I'm here! What difference does it make?" he shouted.

"They know _someone's_ here. They don't know who." Leliana folded her hands, desperation painting her face into harsh lines. "Please, don't be this way! Don't throw your life away-"

"_My life is nothing without her!_" he roared, veins standing out like cords beneath the skin of his neck.

"Are you quite finished?" Everyone spun to see Aideen and Aednat entering the camp, returning from a sweep of the nearby jungle they'd insisted on doing. "If you're trying to give them a reason to come down here," Aideen continued, "by all means, keep shouting." The elves kept walking, placing themselves blatantly between the King and Zevran. Aednat stood at the former Crow's shoulder, while Aideen didn't stop until she was almost against the Warden's chest. "The Commander would be appalled at you right now."

The King glared at her, turning slowly until he was completely facing her. Jacob tried pushing again, his body now wedged between the King's and Aideen's legs, paws sliding in the dirt as he scrambled for purchase.

Zevran got up then, but Aednat held him from going forward with a hand on his shoulder. He didn't try to shake her off, but he didn't acknowledge her either, his entire body focused on the pair facing off in front of him.

"You belong to her, yeah?" Aideen demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she hissed, "Then don't you think you'd better take it up with her before you get yourself killed?"

Lowering his face until it was mere inches from hers, the King stared. Out of the corner of her eye, Sigrun saw Zevran twitch minutely, and Aednat's fingers dig into his shoulder.

"Two hours," the King breathed into the elf's face, before spinning around and stalking off into the jungle. Jacob hurried after him, managing to give the entire camp an apologetic look before disappearing into the heavy bushes.

Everyone's breath rushed out at once, and Sigrun rubbed her face grimly. Apparently, last night had been a bit too much for the King.

"He'd been holding himself together so well," Leliana murmured. "Even the slips were only slight. He always…kept control. I'd thought-" She pressed her lips together, and her eyes filled with fear. "It's all undone. I don't hold the leash any more. There's no leash to hold." A short, bitter laugh fell out of her mouth.

"He won't do it," Aideen said into the silence.

"I wish I believed you," Anders replied, then winced and held his head.

"Sit down before you fall down," Nathaniel scolded as Leliana made her way over to enforce his words.

"In any case, we need a plan, yes?" Zevran said, giving Aednat's hand a squeeze. She smiled warmly at him. He gestured to Aideen. "Come, come, my dashing elves in shining armor."

"You think you can come up with something in two hours?" Sigrun asked tightly.

Zevran's eyes grew serious when he turned to her. "I know we must try."

Nathaniel reached down and grabbed her hand. She looked up at him, and he gave her a determined nod. She had no choice but to nod back. It would be a shame to fail now, wouldn't it?

* * *

First the sparks had just been stronger, brighter. Then they had flared up, like a fire growing as it swallowed tinder and kindling. It had continued to expand, until she felt lit up from the inside like a fancy, glass-paned lantern. The brightness in her head conquered the blackness of the windowless room easily.

Lorelai blinked in wonder as her body started trembling with the finest shivers.

She'd lost track of when it had began. She'd huddled in the windowless room, trying not to let the darkness overwhelm her. She'd been digging her fingertips into the stone walls to remind herself that they were still there, that she wasn't just floating in an ocean of black.

They hadn't roughed her up at all last night. Merely dragged her off the battlements and tossed her in a new cell. New room. When Leliana and Zevran returned to her old cell, they'd find nothing. Andraste, what a mess.

Worth it for Alistair's life.

That must have been why Brighid had insisted she go to the battlements. She'd known Alistair would have been killed without Lorelai. Was it simply kindness that had led her to save him, or did the girl know that he was her father? The ranger had shivered, and thought it was best not to dwell on that.

Then the sparks had started. And now, all the complications and worries could not stand up to the fire inside her. On a base level, it _felt_ like her ranger abilities, but no animal she'd ever encounter had lit a blaze like this in her head. Normally, all the animals she could sense were like tiny fires in her brain, a constant warm glow. Soft. The fires only grew when she Called them, flinging that rope out toward their consciousness like they were drowning and she meant to haul them to safety.

But this… This fire blotted out all the rest, turning the warm, soft glow to something so bright Lorelai almost felt like squinting, even though the light wasn't real, not actually hurting her eyes.

The fire suddenly intensified, and Lorelai craned her head back, mouth opening in a silent scream. It didn't hurt, not exactly. But the power was immense. She knew instinctively that before she had been merely sensing the other presence. Now, she had been noticed, and had its undivided attention.

No animal had _ever_ reached out to her. No animal had _ever_ noticed her first.

She tried to reach into the brilliant light, find out what exactly she was dealing with. But she was rebuffed, shoved back into her own head insistently. The fire spread even more then. The darkness of the room was gone, the flame in her mind blinding her, making her eyes useless.

She barely felt the hands grab her, lifting her off the floor and dragging her…somewhere. The power swelled even further, pulsing down her entire body, cataloguing her functionality like a solider eying a new weapon in a vendor's stall. It hesitated over her stomach, reaching out gently to touch the growing child in her womb.

Lorelai was powerless against its invasion, and could only be mindlessly grateful when it pulled away from her unborn child without feeling the need to inspect him too thoroughly. The power receded slightly, she still couldn't see, but she no longer felt like a glove with someone else's hand shoved inside. Reflexively, she threw an unformed, frantic cry for help at the animal.

When she'd just started out as a ranger, that's all she'd been able to do. Before she'd learned the finesse of complex orders and polite approach, she had just been able to mentally shout "Help!" at the nearest creature and hope it came to her aid.

The fire seemed to freeze for a moment, before its interest became razor sharp.

_[Help?]_

Lorelai couldn't breathe for an instant. She didn't really communicate with animals in words, they didn't understand that. It was mostly a mixture of images, sometimes emotions, that got her point across. But whatever this was not only understood her amateur, wordless plea, but responded in her own language.

Andraste bless and keep her, _what was this?_

She was thrown to the ground, dropped to her hands and knees like a meddlesome street urchin. The animal retreated, the fire receding, just in time to allow her to feel the full impact of the stone floor. Lorelai blinked, breathing in harsh, huge gasps. She could see again, and she stared at the floor for a few moments trying not to panic.

"Leave us," demanded a strange, husky voice, and she heard the footsteps of those who'd brought her to the room fade and then vanish completely behind the sound of a door clicking shut.

Raising her eyes slowly, she found herself looking at a man. He lounged back in what looked to be an ornate chair, comfortable. His armor was pitted and broken, and the huge cloak that clung to his shoulders draped over the chair in folds. The hood of the cloak was drawn up, and his head was tilted forward, casting his whole face in shadow except for the very tip of his chin.

She felt more than saw his eyes lock with hers, and knew without question that this was the man behind this nightmare. The light in her mind flared momentarily, followed by what felt like _thunder_ rumble between her temples. She supposed it could be a growl, but it didn't that throaty edge. It resonated like a storm rolling through a valley.

"So we finally get to see each other face to face," he said. "I've been waiting for this moment for quite some time."

Lorelai's mind prickled in fear, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, but the reason why eluded her. Obviously, this man was dangerous, but it was something more. Something worse.

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. His head cocked abruptly to the side, like his neck had jerked involuntarily, his face still shadowed like a bottomless pit. His voice descended to a seething hiss. "Have you nothing to say to me, pretty Queen?"

She stiffened in terror. No, she was _not_ left alone in a room with the man with _that voice_. With the man who spoke _those words_. "Who are you?" she forced out in no more than a whisper.

He sat back and threw up his hands in mock dismay. "Oh, how sad! To be forgotten so easily!" His voice had gone back to the husky, mostly-normal tone it had in the beginning.

Her mouth went so dry she could barely swallow. The fear in her chest threatened to strangle her. Just as she'd known that he was in charge, though that hadn't been a particularly difficult logical leap, she knew with horrifying certainty that the two different voices were not the same…person. Lorelai didn't know if he was aware of it or not, and she didn't know which would be worse: if he was or wasn't.

"Should I recognize you?" she asked. Her normal tactic of glare-and-be-silent did not seem wise in the face of such madness. He - or was it they? - wanted something from her, or she wouldn't be here. She was surprised he wasn't ranting about the fight, demanding to know who those outside the walls were, or asking how she got out of her cell. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought of Keep. Surely he was all right...unless he'd done something stupid. Andraste spare the man from being the idiot hero.

"You wound my heart, truly," he continued. He folded his hands comically over his chest. "I thought we were close."

"Maybe if I could see your face?" she demurred, lowering her eyes in what she hoped seemed like respect.

He wagged a finger at her like she was a naughty girl. "Ah, I don't know that you're ready for that." His body stiffened, hands clenching into fists. "Would not want to scare the pretty Queen. So tender, so _fragile,_" he added in the grating, alien hiss.

Everything changed when his voice changed. His posture switched, becoming rigid. His body language turned aggressive. Every gesture and movement was hostile. It was literally like someone else had taken his place.

The presence in her mind roared forward, drowning everything in brilliant light. She was dimly aware of hanging her head and just trying to breathe as her vision was swallowed in blinding whiteness again. His voice, normal or otherwise, was blessedly gone in the rush of power.

With it gripping her so hard, she couldn't even begin to form a Call. Though with each bit of information she gathered about whatever animal it was, she wasn't sure she wanted to Call it. It pushed against her mind, like it wanted to leap out of her skin into the room.

Faintly, from what seemed like miles, she heard, "What is wrong with you?" The concern almost made her laugh…if she was capable of laughing.

The animal receded, but not nearly as far back as before. It stayed simmering just below the surface, water about to boil. But she could think, speak, see. Her skin felt electrified, everything shaking minutely.

She saw a pair of boots almost directly in front of her face, just beyond the curtain of her hair that hung in the way. Lorelai managed not to recoil at the thought that he was close enough to touch her, but it was only by a slim margin that she managed it.

"The drugs," she answered thickly. "It must be them. So…many doses." The hesitation in her words was not feigned in the slightest. It was so hard to speak clearly, so hard not to simply bellow in fear and rage. To knock him down and crush him beneath her feet.

Her breath came faster. Those thoughts were not her own, they belonged to-

He reached down, grabbing a thick handful of hair from the crown of her head. Hauling her up, he sat her back on her heels and gave her head a shake. "I knew from the choices you made that you had become weak, but I had no idea just _how_ weak." From closer, the shadow beneath his deep hood wasn't so impenetrable. She tried to see some detail in the gray depths, but all her vision grasped was…scars. Mounds of them. Skin reformed to be jagged instead of smooth.

He released her suddenly, and she almost fell to the floor without him holding her up. Lorelai didn't respond to his accusation of weakness; she just concentrated on bracing herself with her arms, quivering palms pressed tightly against the stone.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," he said, the beginnings of anger filling his voice. He paced away. "You're disgraceful!" He stopped suddenly and turned towards her with a jerk. "Perhaps there is nothing to be done with the pretty Queen," he hissed. "Perhaps I should show you the mercy _I_ was never shown."

"Who didn't…show you mercy?" she got out between deep breaths.

His glare radiated heat at her like a fire. "Enough pretending!" he shouted, his voice walking a dangerous edge between the hiss and normal. "Your past behavior is hurtful as it is; don't make it worse by acting like you don't remember!"

"The scars. They gave them to you…instead of mercy?" she tried, doing her best to sound concerned.

His shoulders hunched forward, like he'd been struck from behind. "They did," he answered, his voice high and wavering. "They held me down and pressed hot brands to my face because I wouldn't rape-" He choked on what sounded like a sob.

That voice, piteous though it was, _did_ raise some flag of awareness in her. But she couldn't place it, not with the animal in her head, filling her mind with crackling light.

"Your fault!" he shouted wildly. "My life, my-" he choked again "-miserable journey!" He waved his hands at her. "Blood all over my hands, but not because I killed anyone…because they killed everyone around me! They made me watch it all. Said if I wanted to be the hero so badly, that this was the punishment." His voice changed again, a shrill, mocking tone now. "'How's your last stand coming, ser? Still happy you covered the bitches escape? Want to tell us where they've gone yet?'"

Lorelai's body stiffened and something in her mind started screaming. Screaming loud and wild, like an injured animal…or a broken person. It pushed the fire between her temples back a bit further, allowing her sense of self to rise to the surface. "Show me…your face," she demanded, grinding the words out through gritted teeth. If she opened her mouth any wider, she feared the scream in her mind would become very, very audible.

"Pretty Queen, so bold and brave now," he hissed viscously. "She thinks she wants to see." He raised a hand and whipped the hood off. "_Now_ pretend you don't know me."

First, all she saw was the scars brought to light. Mounds of flesh lumped in strange places, the entire left half of his face rearranged to look monstrous. Once the horror faded, other things started leaping out at her. The jaw line; she'd stared at it as a hormone-driven young girl and teased him about it as the maids fawned. The piercing eyes; quick to catch the squires misbehaving and just as quick to catch dinner on the run during a hunt. The overlong red hair; she'd always wondered if the flop into his eyes was accidental…or deliberately crafted.

"Gilmore," Lorelai moaned.


	25. Revelations

**Whew! I want all of you to be proud of me, as I have resisted DA2 to bring you this :P. Sorry if there's typos I missed. Enjoy!**

**I also feel like I should've titled this story Heed The Call: The Tale of the Deus Ex Machina, lol.  
**

* * *

King tried to raise its voice above the others, but Husband and Lover drowned it out with their bellowing. _Stupid!_ shouted King. _Reckless! Pointless!_ But the other voices weren't nearly as articulate. They spoke no words. They simply threw back their heads and roared.

Alistair's fingers clenched involuntarily as his insides throbbed. He couldn't think over Husband and Lover. He knew this would solve nothing, but he'd lost the fight with logic the moment he'd seen her on the battlements. Now, all he had was a base, male urge to protect his wife. To see her back to safety. He was _failing her_.

He glanced at the sun. Almost time.

* * *

Gilmore glared down at her for a moment before sweeping her a mocking bow.

Lorelai's shock seemed to have pushed the presence in her mind even further away, and no wonder. So many questions, all of equal importance…and all equally absurd under the circumstances. All except one.

"You," she whispered, "you engineered this whole thing." Fury, confusion, and betrayal of the darkest kind drew around her like a storm cloud. "_Why?"_

His expression contorted, twisting and pulling the scars grotesquely. He bent forward, covering his face with his hands. "My lady, we could only hold the gates for so long." His voice was muffled against his palms. "When Howe's men came, they…they…" Choking, he backed up until he stumbled over the trailing edge of his cloak and spilled to the floor.

She stared at his shaking, sobbing body. Pity, horror, and sorrow all flitted near the surface of her consciousness. Everyone had their breaking point…and Howe's men had found Roland Gilmore's. She could afford to feel none of those emotions right now, however. The Gilmore she'd known had indeed died that terrible night. The man before her, who'd had her kidnapped, was _not_ him.

The sobs quieted and his head jerked up suddenly. "The pretty Queen left us," he hissed, anger seething from his eyes.

She flinched at the look on his face and the return of _that_ voice. "You told me to go," she answered reflexively, refusing to allow guilt to surface. She'd made her peace years ago with Rendon Howe's blood running over her hands.

"You left us!" he repeated, and spit flew from his lips at the force of his words. "Left your household to die! Ran off to be a pretty whore to a bastard King!"

The animal in her mind surged forward, stealing her breath even as her body wanted to surge forward, too. Wanted to claw his scarred face until it bled. "How dare you," she said in a strangled hiss.

"So many dead. They tried to force me to rape the maids, but I wouldn't. So they raped them in front of me. Mother Mallol…she…they-" He snarled abruptly, which died off to a plaintive whine. His body began to rock back and forth in eerie rhythm with his words. "They branded my face. I tried not to, but it hurt so much. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed." The more he spoke, the more hysterical he became.

"Gilmore, why did you do this?" she demanded, fighting to push the animal in her brain away, fighting not to lose the tenuous hold she had. Whatever this creature was, it was responding to the situation…badly. Lorelai feared what would happen if it broke the hold she had on her body, if it could use her as an instrument.

He ignored her, and the rocking got wilder. "Somehow, I lived after everyone else was dead." He stared into space at something only he could see. "I don't…remember much. An awful journey, being locked in a ship's hold." He sucked in a breath in surprise, as if he were shocking himself with the information. "Sold into slavery."

"Gilmore," Lorelai called firmly. Andraste help her, if she was to die in this room, she'd die knowing the _why_ of this.

"I was a good slave, well-behaved. Assassins killed my master, and I was free." Those vacant eyes turned to her finally, and they slowly filled with a wild anger. "I had heard rumors, stories, of the Hero of Ferelden. How she was a highborn ranger, how she married Maric's second son." His head tilted freakishly. "How she was a daughter of Highever," he hissed. "How the pretty Queen had escaped the slaughter of her family and rose to greatness…without a thought for those left behind."

He rolled to his hands and knees, and started crawling toward her. Lorelai scooted backwards quickly, skinning her knees against the stone floor as she scrambled.

"And I thought, surely, the lady Cousland _I knew_ would not have done such a thing. The lady Cousland _I knew_ could not have let this happen. Could not have _dared to find happiness after all we had suffered!"_ he screamed, lunging for her ankle.

Lorelai yanked herself out of his reach just in time; a short scream slipping passed her lips. She tried to put as much as space between them as possible, but she dared not stand up lest it made him get to his feet, too. She'd never beat him on foot. He'd always won the courtyard races with the castle's children…

"I told you to come with me!" she shouted desperately, even though she knew he was beyond reason. But she couldn't help it. The words were pouring out. "You chose to stay behind! I'm one person, Gilmore! Don't you lay this at my feet!"

Alistair would be proud of her. That she was admitting that, in fact, she could not have saved anyone that night. That, in fact, without Duncan, she probably wouldn't have survived, either. She would _not_ allow this broken man to convince her otherwise.

"You could have stayed!" he shot back, advancing as she retreated. He lunged again, and this time she had nowhere to go as she slammed into the wall when she tried to avoid him.

The vice grip on her ankle was terrifying, and she almost lost herself to the blazing white light of the animal again. Fighting to keep her vision, she twisted her body away from him, palms splayed against the wall. The fear of losing sight of him was far worse than the fear of looking at him, however, so didn't turn her face away.

The only thing she could think to do was to try to reach whatever was left of the Gilmore she'd known. There was something there; he'd called her "my lady". It was the only advantage she could hope to exploit. Lorelai gasped out, "What now, _Ser_ Gilmore? Do you need to kill me to soothe your pain? Will my death banish all the horrors you've endured?"

He let go of her like her skin burned him, and pushed himself away from her with such sudden, violent strength that he almost fell over backwards. He stared at her for a moment, as if he'd just noticed her. "I don't know."

* * *

Nathaniel gritted his teeth as the King stormed back into the camp. He looked even more furious than before, his normally-friendly eyes filled with an anger so great it seemed to change their color. Jacob slunk dutifully by his side, but the mabari cowered like he been beaten. That was, of course, impossible. Nathaniel couldn't shake the visual, though.

Maker preserve them, what were they going to do? They'd come up with nothing. Any suggestion even remotely resembling a plan had been shot down by Zevran and Leliana again and again, all while they shared a guarded look with each other. Nothing anyone else brought up was safe enough. Or so they claimed. At this point, Nathaniel was positive they were hiding something.

Sigrun tensed next to him, and he took her hand firmly. Concentrating on her served two purposes: the obvious of offering her comfort, and the bonus side-effect of distracting him from his own worries. Why hadn't anyone told him being head over heels had these kinds of fringe benefits before? Sneaky bastards.

And thirdly, and Maker how he hated to even think it, the King wasn't looking too…stable at the moment. Deservedly so, but the archer was still being presented with a large, battle-hardened, normally-sword-and-shield-carrying, very _angry_ man in close proximity to his lover. If he had hold of Sigrun's hand, he could yank her out of the way if necessary.

As that thought crossed his mind, Nathaniel knew he could not blame the King for his rash actions. He knew that what was between the King and the Commander was ten times what he felt for Sigrun, despite the intensity all new relationships have. He could not imagine how the man must be feeling. He squeezed his lady's hand, more in reassurance to himself that she was here and safe, than to comfort her.

"Well," the King demanded, stopping a few feet away from the group.

"Alistair," Leliana pleaded. "You must understand. It is not that simple-"

"Right," he interrupted her, turning away. He made straight for the pile of his armor, and started putting the pieces back on.

Aideen got to her feet, but Zevran grabbed her arm, keeping her near him. It made Nathaniel feel just a little bit better, knowing the assassin didn't want one of his lovers anywhere near the King, either.

Anders, however, was in no position to protect Leliana, at all. The bard rose to her feet, and shrugged off the mage's attempt to keep her back. She crossed the camp to the furious King.

_Grab quicker next time, my friend_, Nathaniel thought to himself at the stricken look on Anders' face.

"Do not do this," Leliana was begging. "You are killing yourself! You may be killing _her_!" She reached out and took a piece of armor from him, as if the lack of a glove or boot would stop the man.

That stopped him for a second, but it was only to gently remove the armor (which happened to be a glove) from her small hands and continue with his task. The Orlesian swung around, tears filling her voice as she speared Zevran with her eyes, "Zev-" she choked.

The elf stiffened immediately, and shook his head.

"Zev, I don't know what else to do!" she exclaimed desperately.

"You gave your word," he growled. "I did not know it was such a casual thing to be broken!"

She groaned and twisted her hands as Nathaniel blinked in alarm. The archer had _never_ heard the former Crow speak to the bard that way. Granted, he'd only seen them together for a short period of time, but he'd spent a great deal of time with Zevran. The assassin had always spoken of Leliana with nothing but respect and bawdy, friendly affection. Anders seemed equally shocked by the harsh words, torn between outrage and surprise.

"Alistair, you can't do this!" she began again.

Zevran must have seen something in her face, because he got to his feet and pointed at her with venom, speaking Antivan rapidly. Leliana wailed back in Orlesian, to which the elf replied with more vehement Antivan.

If their tones were any indication, something was very wrong.

"You're both speaking too fast for me, so if you've magically come up with a plan, I'd like to hear it," the King barked, "but if it's more arguing, count me out."

"Alistair, stop!" Leliana shouted, grabbing his hands. "You can't _do this_! You're going to be-"

"Leliana!" Zevran snarled.

"-a father!" she finished.

The assassin cursed luridly, his face filled with rage. "You gave her your _word_," he spat.

Nathaniel wasn't playing much attention to him, though. He was too busy staring at the King while his own mind exploded into little, tiny pieces. A _father_? Meaning the Commander was _pregnant?_ In there…with those cowardly, vile, Maker-forsaken pigs?

He suddenly felt like throwing up. No, they couldn't have. They _couldn't_ have touched her… But they had to. For Wardens to have children, _two _Wardens, the chances were next to impossible. It was horrifyingly more likely that one of those mercenaries had-

It seemed the King had reached the same conclusion he had. His face had paled at Leliana's pronouncement, to the point where Nathaniel doubted there was any blood left in his head. But now the color came rushing back in a torrent, turning his face scarlet. "No," he whispered, snatching his hands from Leliana's grip in horror. "_No_."

"It's yours, dear one!" she added quickly, recognizing the look on his face for what it was. "Lorelai swears on Andraste's pyre. She said it was the night before she left Denerim. She would not lie about something like this!"

He paled again, much faster this time, and he swayed on his feet like grasses in the wind. Leliana grabbed him, but she clearly wasn't going to be enough to grant him a soft landing if he lost his feet. She'd probably be going down with him.

It was that thought that got Nathaniel to his feet and by his monarch's side. Just in time, too. The King's knees buckled and the archer was suddenly bearing most of the larger man's weight. Between himself and Leliana, they got him to the ground gently.

She gripped his hands tightly. "Alistair, you have never doubted her a moment in your life, do not start now."

He raised his eyes to stare at the redhead. "Mine?" he whispered.

Leliana smiled at him, and her tears finally spilled out of her eyes. "Yours."

The King turned to look at Nathaniel, like he needed someone else to confirm what he'd just heard, someone to nod and agree. Swallowing hard, the archer did nod, though the expression on the other man's face made any words he'd had die on his tongue. Wonder and fear; there were no words in the face of those.

Nathaniel heard a soft gasp, followed by Oghren's rough cackle from behind him, before he heard an echoing, gravel-filled voice say, "I suppose congratulations are in order."

The three of them turned, and it was the archer's turn to feel faint. Isabela had entered the camp with…with… He'd seen them before in the Deep Roads, but it did not diminish the effect. Especially with the scattering of sparkling gemstones driven into its rocky skin.

"Shale, my sweet stone seductress, are those new stones you have?" Zevran asked, his fury at his partner seemingly forgotten in the face of an opportunity to flirt. "They are gorgeous, second only to you, of course, in beauty."

The golem glared. "Ah, the painted elf still lives. Unfortunate." It paused then. "But yes, they are new," it added, preening ever so slightly. If something with stone features _could_ preen. It turned back to the King, and Nathaniel tensed slightly to be even near its focus. "Elder mage tells me that when mortal women have other small mortals growing inside them that I am to offer congratulations to the mortals involved. Elder mage claims this is the 'polite' thing to do, though I do not see how it should deserve any recognition, since it appears that it is the female that does all the work." It scowled. "Congratulations."

The King burst into mildly hysterical laughter and sagged against Nathaniel. Oghren rubbed his hands together. "Now we got us a _plan_!"

"And the drunken dwarf still lives, as well. Pity," Shale commented.

* * *

"You don't know?" Lorelai echoed, curling her legs as tight to her body as possible. "You've orchestrated this elaborate _fiasco_, and you don't know?" she shouted. This time, she allowed the animal to tighten its grip, and her ears rang with the intensity.

Gilmore had the audacity to look embarrassed. He whined in that plaintive, almost-Gilmore voice, "I thought if…if…"

"Grady," she interrupted sharply. "What about Grady? Why did you need him? Why is he here?"

"I spent years locating the mercenaries," he answered, his eyes losing focus again. "Years tracking them down, but after all that work, they wouldn't listen to the likes of me." His gaze sharpened on her abruptly. "Look at me! I can't sway men, not like this."

"Not without fistfuls of gold, you mean," Lorelai snarled. "That's how you got them to agree to assassinate my husband and me, isn't it?"

"No!" he said frantically, cringing from her. "I _told_ them that…to turn them against Grady, to instigate the fighting. I knew your bastard King," he hissed the last two words, "would come for you. I needed the mercenaries ready to fight, not ready to let you go peacefully like Grady wanted."

"Fight to kill him!" she half-shouted, and the presence that shared her mind bellowed in agreement.

"No, fight so they would die!" he shouted back. His features tightened and twisted, and the pitiful voice vanished into the strange, husky one. "I spent years finding as many as I could, and if I couldn't find _them_ I found those close to them. Someone's blood would be spilled!"

"Gilmore, what are you talking about?" she demanded.

"They're Howe's men!" he screamed at her. "As many as I could gather, they are here! Grady's men were his, he would trust no one else with him to get you, but the mercenaries are Howe's men."

Lorelai could only stare at him; even fear was crushed under this revelation. "How? After his death, they must have scattered."

"I found them," he insisted firmly.

"So, you found Howe's men, and put them forward in this treason, to get them _killed_?"

"Yes," he whispered, and his eyes glinted with a sickly light.

"And Grady?" she tried again. "Why is Grady here?"

"I heard of Grady, and his distaste for you, through gossip. I used him to recruit Howe's men, since no one would listen to a face like this. I pretended to agree with his pious desire to give Anora back the throne. He thought me a silent partner, but once we got here," he let out a high-pitched giggle, "I turned the tables on him. Doled out the coin, made Howe's men look to _me_ for orders. Killed his men, leaving only the mercenaries who thought the plan was to kill the King and Queen. Lambs going to the slaughter."

She blinked in naked shock for a few seconds, and the animal retreated a bit. Of course. These kind of emotions, this kind of logic, was completely beyond it. Lorelai knew how it felt; this mess seemed completely beyond her, as well.

"And me," she finally said. "What do you intend to do with _me_?"

His body crunched forward, hunching until his face was hidden. "The pretty Queen should pay," he hissed. "Pay for her happiness. Pay for the fact that she survived while other suffered!"

The animal rushed forward in such blinding power that Lorelai felt her heart shudder in her chest. Everything became so clear in seconds, all confusion wiped away. It wasn't one animal, but many. A herd with a collective subconscious, an underlying link to each member. There were some smaller fires that burned with masculine flames, but most of the fires blazed with femininity, brazen and strong. A matriarchal society.

One of the fires had surged to the forefront, bringing all the clarity with it. Undeniably the matriarch. Gently, but firmly, she ran through Lorelai's memories, examining her life in a blur of images, lifting information as easily as if the ranger were a book to be read. The sifting became more urgent as all the pieces of the puzzle became clear.

_[Sister. Not like the others. You can hear us.]_

The Warden almost wept with relief. With the matriarch controlling the connection, the presence became solid and reassuring, a welcoming voice in her pit of lonely despair.

She sensed lashing fury, and a seething thirst for death, for punishment. _[Your kind cage you. We shall crush them.]_

No, no, no. She couldn't allow them to dictate the terms; there would be pandemonium. Frantically, she threw up memory after memory of Alistair, letting the emotions embedded in those memories flow down the vibrant connection to the matriarch.

Puzzlement was the response. _[Your for-all-time mate? Odd. We do not keep mates for-all-time. Understood. He is here, he shall not be harmed.]_

Her presence receded like a gathering tide, and the white light faded slightly to give Lorelai a horrifying vision: Gilmore was gripping her ankle again, and dragging himself closer with every second. She hadn't even felt it, the power of the matriarch was so consuming.

With a terrified gasp, she kicked out violently, trying to dislodge him. He grinned tightly and his hold intensified. "I thought, perhaps," he grunted, "you'd be pleased with my initiative. That you'd be happy that you had a part in punishing every…last…one of them."

Apparently he hadn't noticed her lapse. She didn't know whether that was reassuring or not. "Pleased?" she retorted. "Pleased with my own kidnapping? Don't hold your breath!"

"The pretty Queen should be thankful she has lived this long!" he hissed as his face contorted, the scars twisted grotesquely.

Panic seized her heart and she couldn't control it. She swung her other foot in a desperate arc, connecting solidly with his temple. Not enough to knock him out, but it surprised him, and he surrendered her ankle. Lorelai leapt to her feet, but at the last second he snatched at her. He didn't get a hold, but he tripped her, and she sprawled on her back.

Flat on her back. Plastering the flimsy, ragged dress across the front of her body. Displaying her bulging belly for the world to see. She froze, breath hitching in her throat.

Gilmore's eyes widened as color seethed into his face like a sickness. "The whore ran off to be Queen," he growled, "and now, _right in front of me_, carries the bastard's seed? The bitch would create _life, _after all the life that was lost to save her pathetic, worthless hide!"

He shoved himself to his feet, scrambling at his waist for the dagger that had been hidden in the voluminous folds of his cloak. "_I'll cut the bastard's spawn out_!" he screamed, drawing the dagger and raising it above his head.

Terror flooded her veins. She screamed out loud, and in her mind, she screamed, as well. Screamed down that blazing cord of fire, screamed to the animal that had called her sister. Screamed to the matriarch.

_[Now! Now! Now!]_


	26. Matriarch

**Hooray, new chapter! The Tale of the Deus Ex Machina continues :P **

**Warning about dropping the F-bomb. I realized a certain rogue had yet to have her POV explored, and she's not the most lady-like. Apologies if anyone is offended by it.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Isabela bent to adjust the laces of her boots. She needed to give her nervous hands something to do. Andraste's tits, how had she gotten herself into this mess? She'd wanted to help, to make herself look good to the royal Grey Wardens. Never hurt to have a couple monarchs in your pocket, especially with her questionable lifestyle.

But this full scale assault? She'd never been prepared to go this far, do this much. But she couldn't back out now, not without damaging all the good will she'd created by playing ferry.

The Rivaini frowned at her laces. The bare-assed truth wasn't so much that she was bothered by being stuck helping. She loved a good fight; the worse the odds, the better. No, what bothered her more was that it _didn't_ bother her. She should've been finding any way out possible. Just melting away into the jungle. A flat out run for it. Anything. There was no desire to, however.

All she could think about was the Warden – the Queen. Knocked up. Andraste's hairy- Isabela swallowed hard. Right, keep the cursing under a bit more control, even in her head. The baby-faced King Warden would have a stroke if he heard anything more colorful than "Maker's beard".

She straightened up, fussing with her leathers. She could examine her shiny, new conscience later. Now, it was time for some good, old-fashioned bloodshed.

A rolling wave of thunder thudded into her sternum, vibrating the air in her lungs, and she blinked in surprise. She glanced around, and the rest were looking curiously at the sky…which was clear as a virgin's bed sheets. Isabela looked up, too…and horror descended on her.

No. No, it _couldn't_ be spring.

Isabela looked around at the nearby flora desperately, but anything she looked at only brought more evidence to the table. The tall _azadirachta_ was filled with small, white orchids. The _dalbergia's_ boughs drooped with their brown, hard fruit. And the _ficus _tree's figs looked good enough to eat.

Andraste's _tits_.

She noticed everyone was looking at her, and then she realized that she'd been cursing out loud the entire time she'd been cataloguing the trees. She also realized she was the only one who could possibly hope to save them right now. Oh, Maker…they were so fucked.

"Back against the wall," she ordered, gestured firmly to the rock face they'd been using as shelter and cover this whole time. As she started marching toward them, they actually followed, despite the bewilderment clear on their faces. Amazing, they were listening. Perhaps there was hope.

Oh, who was she kidding? They were as good as dead.

"Something you want to share with the rest of the class?" Alistair asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"That was _some_ language," Sigrun added, eyes a bit wide.

She tensed. How to explain this without sounding like she'd lost her mind? After all, the first time _she'd_ seen them, it had been akin to a religious experience. Well, as close to "religious" as Isabela was ever going to get. Thinking you're about to die will do that do a girl. Another great roll of thunder emanated from the jungle, and she realized she had better start talking. Fast.

"This island is part of a set of five, it's an archipelago," she explained, talking as fast as she could. "During the spring and winter, certain…animals migrate between the islands. It's spring." She reached up, and buried her fingers in her thick hair in despair. "And they're here. We can't fight them-"

"I doubt that," the golem grumbled, as if its feeling were hurt.

"We can't," she countered. "Maybe _you'd_ make it out alive, but the rest of us-"

Sounds of crashing timber reached her ears, and the Rivaini grabbed Alistair's arm reflexively. She hoped Zev hadn't noticed. The bastard would never let her live it down. Though the length of their lives was up for debate at the moment.

"What is that?" Howe asked, narrowing his eyes at the jungle. As if it was _its_ fault.

Shapes were beginning to appear from the depths of the trees. Vast, towering, impossibly large shapes. The sounds of breaking trees grew louder…and louder. "Don't move," Isabela whispered, praying it would be enough. "Don't _breathe_."

Apparently not.

They broke through the last of the trees and bushes, entering the clearing of the camp like they owned the place. She had to repress a hysterical giggle; they _did_. Andraste's blood, it was a big group. Juveniles scampered around between the legs' of the adults. And the leader, Maker's greasy palms, she was massive.

They were so fucked. Even the fearless mabari didn't dare growl in the presence of this lot. He pressed his finely-quivered body against Alistair's legs, but remained completely silent.

At their stunning appearance, the Warden King grabbed her and placed her slightly behind him. Bless his heart, what a gentleman. Too bad it wouldn't save her, wouldn't save any of them.

"What…are…those?" Leliana asked in a voice so strained it was barely above a whisper.

At first, Isabela couldn't answer. Her mind had run away with her, dragging her kicking and screaming back to the first time she'd seen these animals.

_Isabela picked her way through the thick jungle, pushing sweat-drenched hair out of her face. It wasn't working all that well. Maker damn her useless crew. They couldn't have left her one damn blade for cutting through the jungle? She certainly wasn't about to use her daggers. The shit oozing from the plants would rust them before she could even wipe them on her legs. So she was stuck batting at the leaves with her hands._

_ Cursing to herself, she slapped a giant frond of the way, and then tripped over an exposed root. She caught herself on her hands and knees with a grunt. Fuck her crew, fuck this foul jungle, fuck-_

_ A strange sound, like a loud snort, came from the bushes in front of her. Isabela raised her eyes in curiosity, and then froze in terror. There was an…animal standing about twenty feet away, and it was a creature she couldn't have thought up in a nightmare._

A big female near the leader reached out and gave the cold fire pit a swat, scattering ash and charred logs in a flurry. Everyone behind her jumped in fright, and Alistair pushed her back a pace further.

_It loomed in the trees, staring at her with large, shining eyes. Its head was bigger than her own head and torso combined. White tusks longer than her arms stuck out from under its lip. And what was protruding from its face…?_

_ It took a step forward, crushing the jungle brush that separated them. She swallowed a scream as its legs came into view; they could easily pass for tree trunks, even in this Andraste-damned place. Raising that…thing on its face, it let out such a blast of sound that her heart tried to climb up into her throat._

_ Scrambling to her feet, she took off running. She didn't stop until she thought her lungs would burst. With the welcome sea air gusting harshly against her face, Isabela noticed her cheeks were damp. Tears brought on by terror._

"Isabela?" Zev prompted quietly.

Right, someone had asked her a question. Someone wanted to know what _she_ had wanted to know. When she found him, she nearly gutted that man who'd given her the island's location. He'd laughed at her desperate questions, but quickly changed his tune at the wild light in her eyes.

_"Saw them, did you?" he leered, even though she was holding him by the scruff of his shirt and had dragged him to his knees before her. "Impressive, eh?"_

_ "What are they?" she demanded._

_ "An animal like any other," he replied, laughing mockingly. "Surely they didn't scare the likes of you?"_

_ "Tell me _everything _about them, now."_

_ He cackled again, but the sound withered in his throat as she tossed him to the ground and drew her daggers. "Fine, fine! I'll tell you all I know."_

She'd avoided them since, meticulously landing on the island only during their off seasons. Sometimes, she'd seen the herds from the ship, wandering the other islands in their endless quest for food. Just once she'd cut it close, leaving just as they were arriving. She'd seen them swimming…_swimming_…from the adjacent island.

"Isabela," Zev repeated, his tone sterner this time, a poor mask for his anxiety.

"Elephants," she finally whispered. "They are elephants."

The leader raised her trunk and pointed it at them. The appendage swept from side to side slowly, gathering the scent of each of them. Evaluating their threat. Identifying them.

"Is that its…nose?" Sigrun whispered, fear fighting with wonder in her voice.

"Darling, _shut up_," hissed Howe.

"Yes," Isabela answered the dwarf numbly. She wanted to add that silence didn't matter at this point. They weren't exactly hidden, and their judgment was sure to be handed out any moment. Maybe the elephants would just leave. They'd seen humans before. It wouldn't be _too_ farfetched to hope they would simply go off in search of food.

The leader tossed her head and dust flew off in a cloud. She started toward them, the rest of the herd remaining at the edges of the camp. Her gigantic feet raised plumes of dirt with every step, muscles and tendons rippling all the way up each leg. Isabela almost let out hysterical laughter again; she'd always thought their footsteps should sound like the Qunari's _gattlok_ going off, but they were silent as ghosts when they walked. When they weren't knocking down trees, of course.

Oh, Maker. They were dead. Deader than dead.

The leader stopped a few feet in front of their huddled group, towering over them. Practically blotting out the sun. The wind from her flapping ears pushed Isabela's hair back in erratic gusts. Large, brown eyes stared at them with severe intensity. Her lack of tusks did not make her any less menacing.

Isabela knew now that the first elephant she'd seen had been male…and she was doubly lucky not to be dead because of it.

The golem came forward, standing on the other side of Alistair. "Shale, don't. Go back," he whispered firmly, not talking his eyes away from the elephant.

"I don't recall taking orders from it," it replied, but it didn't go any further forward. It didn't retreat, either.

Isabela felt her knees shaking. If the golem antagonized the leader, they'd all die. The golem would be sitting pretty, but the rest of them would be slaughtered. Then again, maybe not. Could they crush stone? The Rivaini didn't want to find out.

Raising her trunk slowly, she held the end mere inches from Alistair's face. To his credit, he didn't flinch. Isabela could see the sheen of sweat across his skin, but he held his ground, and kept his arm in front of her. He stared right back into those bottomless brown eyes.

Inhaling in a great intake of air, the leader then blew it back out in a rush. The Warden winced as the exhale plowed into his face, gritting his teeth. The leader snorted and dropped her trunk. Turning her head to the side, she looked down at Alistair with the full force of one of her enormous eyes.

Isabela held her breath. If the elephant even chose to shift her weight, they'd all be crushed into paste. End of story. No bards would sing of their daring rescue of the Queen when they were all smashed like a bad batch of strawberries.

The mabari stepped forward…then curled one of his front paws underneath him and lowered his head. Isabela's jaw fell open. He was_ bowing_. The leader glanced at him, and bobbed her head in what the pirate would swear was acknowledgment. She'd clearly lost her mind, of course, but if she made it out of this alive, she'd vow for the rest of her days that that's what it was.

The leader tensed suddenly, her whole body going rigid. Her gaze shifted, staring off at something else, something outside of the clearing. Her mouth dropped open and an earth-shaking, brain-bursting bellow erupted.

Everyone clapped their hands to their ears and dropped to the ground, except the golem. There was no other course of action in the face of such eardrum-shattering sound. Isabela had never heard rage so perfectly…until now.

The elephant spun in a rush, and managed not to kill any of them. The herd joined in, filling the air with bellows and trumpets. Andraste's ass, her ears would be ringing for _days_. With that curious, lumbering walk/run they had, the leader dashed off. The entire herd followed, raising enough dust to make it seem like they'd simply vanished. The evidence of their presence was in the storm of flying dirt, and the din of bellows and trumpets wavering as the herd moved quickly.

Isabela burst into hysterical, relieved laughter as she collapsed against Alistair. She figured the Cousland Queen would forgive her under these circumstances. Behind her, the dazed murmuring of the rest of their companions was a buzz of inarticulate sound.

"Maker's breath!" the Warden King gasped next to her. "Was that…normal?" he asked.

"How should I know?" she managed around the last, frenzied giggles. "I normally _avoid them_."

The mabari scrambled to his feet, grabbed Alistair's gauntlet in his teeth, and started pulling. High-pitched whines pushed out from between his tightly clenched jaws.

"What is it, boy?" Isabela teased. "Want to go after your friends? Count me out."

Howe stood up so fast he kneed the King in the back. The archer ignored the other Warden's half-hearted whine. "Those…elephants, they were Called. The Commander, she-"

The cacophony of noise still coming from the herd, dimmed by their distance but still impressive, was suddenly interspersed with the sound of stone impacting stone. Over and over again.

"They're attacking the fortress," the bard whispered. Speechlessness greeted this statement, except for the mabari's insistent whining.

Zevran pushed himself up, and bent to lend a hand to the two gorgeous lady elves that seemed glued to his sides. "How shameful it would be! To let the elephants take all the credit for rescuing our fair Queen. Come, come!" he gestured briskly. "You wanted a distraction, yes? No offense, my bountiful bird-hating beauty, but even you must admit they will accomplish the goal better than you."

The golem grunted in reply, before reaching down and hauling Alistair up like he weighed nothing.

Isabela got to her feet in a haze. Yes, she imagined being inside a fortress under attack by a herd of elephants would be _the_ most distracting thing in all of Thedas. Second only to a High Dragon, perhaps.

* * *

The door burst open, and Lorelai tore her eyes away from Gilmore to watch splinters of wood fly slowly through the air, as if time had reduced its pace to a crawl. The former knight of Highever, however, so gone in the labyrinth of bile and cruelty that had replaced his mind, didn't even turn at the new development.

Time sprinted ahead, blowing passed its normal rate, causing the newcomer to become a blur at they charged across the room. The sound of impact was enormous as they crashed into Gilmore, sending him sprawling to the floor in a bewildered tangle of arms and legs.

Standing with his back to Lorelai, the second man towered over Gilmore's flailing form. His chest heaved with every breath, and his entire body shook. In a familiar voice, he snarled, "Stay away from her."

"Grady?" she gasped.

He ventured a quick glance back at her, green eyes filled with anger and regret. "Forgive me, my lady, that I have put you in this position, and left you at the mercy of this viper."

Gilmore cackled, his struggles ceasing. "Viper? A harsh word, coming from a traitor to the crown."

"My wrongs are my own, but I would _never_ have turned against a member of the household I swore to protect!" Grady countered, fist clenching at his sides. "Nor would I have sought to kill an unarmed woman, especially one in her," he swallowed audibly, "condition." He flicked his eyes back to her again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

In spite of everything, Lorelai had to laugh bitterly. "And what would you have done? Let me go?"

Grady's jaw tightened quickly, and he turned away. "Are you all right?" he asked without looking at her.

"Yes."

"Then let's get you away from this Maker-damned excuse of a man." Taking a few steps backwards, he held a hand out for her without turning his back to Gilmore.

Lorelai stared at it for a few moments. The fragile reality she'd built around herself these past months had just shattered around her…and now it had shattered again. To find rescue from certain death at the hands of _this_ man left her feeling damaged herself.

Could she find joy in killing him now? Could she stand by and let Alistair execute him? She knew the punishment for what he'd done, for treason, and yet could she find any resolution in that now?

Or had she just been so alone, for so long, that this one act of kindness threatened to make her forgive all that he'd done? All that he may still plan to do?

"My lady," he urged, wiggling his fingers. "He is certainly not incapacitated."

"Certainly not," Gilmore mockingly agree, though he remained sprawled on his back as if lounged in his bed.

"We need to leave," Grady snapped, though his anger was directed at Gilmore. "I do not relish the idea of trying to defend you from him in these close quarters."

Consequences could be saved for later. Right now, the choice to take was obvious. Lorelai reached up and took Grady's hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Placing her behind him, he began side-stepping his way to the door, keeping himself between her and Gilmore.

"How touching," Gilmore sneered, bringing his legs closer to his body. "Such devotion to a woman you sought to exile."

"Shut up!" Grady barked.

They hugged the edge of the room as much as possible, but soon the walls were their enemy, as they had to pass perilously close to where Gilmore had fallen to make it to the door.

"How far do you think you'll get, old man?" taunted Gilmore, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "The men follow me. They crave blood, and know that you won't give it to them."

"Stay down like the snake you are," Grady warned, "or I-"

"You'll what?" he demanded. "You didn't even bother to grab a weapon before you came dashing to the rescue! Your self-righteousness will be your downfall." Gilmore's body tensed, and his legs curled up like springs. It would only take a single fluid movement for him to get them under his body and surge to his feet.

And Lorelai realized with sharp fear that Grady was indeed completely weaponless.

"When I push you toward the door, run," Grady whispered to her. "Don't look back, don't-"

The eerie light filled Gilmore's eyes. "You'll not take the pretty Queen from me. Her heart's blood is my _prize_."

Her breath caught in her throat, and Grady shoved her forcefully toward the doorway. She stumbled slightly but kept her feet as she heard a rush of struggle. The familiar sounds of armor shifting rapidly as its wearer moved, muffled screeches of metal against metal. Followed by a surprised grunt of pain.

She couldn't help it. Instead of running, she turned around.

Grady was half-turned towards her, like he'd meant to follow her. He weaved on his feet, clutched against Gilmore with a shoulder in the younger man's chest. His head hung low, like it wasn't up to him to control it anymore, and a rattling sigh left his lips, accompanied by a fine mist of blood.

Gilmore gave her a twisted grin behind Grady's head. Spinning the other man's body roughly, he yanked his dagger out of Grady's armpit with a dull sucking noise. Loghain's former guard captain dropped to his knees, blood pouring from beneath his left arm in a flood. When he collapsed to his side, he didn't catch himself.

Lorelai stood immobile, her breaths sounding harsh in her ears. Tears pricked her eyes for Andraste-only-knew what reason. To her stunned surprise, instead of leaping after her, her father's former knight looked down at the fallen man in the ever-widening pool of blood.

"Think to deprive me of my reward?" Gilmore shouted at the body of his former partner, spit flying from his lips. "You will not judge me! I have _earned this_!"

She braced herself against the door frame. _Think! Move! Do something!_ She liked that last suggestion best. The Warden had little desire to be chased through this fortress like a game of cat and mouse. A very sad game, for she'd be pathetically easy prey with her heavy belly.

No. That would not do.

"This has been years in the making! _Years_! And you, you self-serving bastard, you want to take it away from me! To deem me unworthy!" Gilmore continued screaming.

Her gaze pulled to the right, and settled on a particularly large piece of the door that had snapped off on impact with Grady. As if in a dream, she crouched and picked it up, assuming she'd be noticed at any moment.

But she wasn't. Gilmore kept ranting, though no one was arguing with him.

She straightened, holding the wooden piece the size of her arm. It had a sharp end, sure, but she didn't want to risk trying to get past his armor with what amounted to an overlarge wooden stake. But it was heavy enough for something else entirely.

And if this was a trap? If he was baiting her into an attack so he could get her easily within reach? Then Alistair and her son forgive her, for she could not turn her back on this room, this _man_, and run like a coward.

"She's mine! To do with as I see fit! These scars, and the blood of innocents, are her responsibility!" Gilmore was practically frothing at the mouth now, veins standing out like cords in his neck. "She will answer for it!"

Lorelai left the doorway, and her feet were nimble and sure despite her captivity, despite her body heavy with child. She drew back for the swing before she reached her destination, so when she came within range, the arc had already begun.

Her makeshift club crashed into Gilmore's temple, dropping him to the ground like a stone. The dagger, covered with Grady's blood, clattered to the ground. Andraste favored the bold, apparently.

Bending swiftly, she scooped up the weapon and descended on the dazed Gilmore with all the mercy of a hungry griffon. Pushing back his chin, she flashed the blade across his throat with enough forced to split it wide up, leaving his windpipe gaping into the open air.

She wanted to be sure she never had to hear that awful, hissing voice again. Even in his death throes.

His eyes went wide and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a landed fish. His blood lunged out, coating her chest, running between her breasts and down her arms. She stood up, and contented herself by watching the life pulse from his body in ever-weakening gouts.

It was like this when she'd killed Howe, too. The deepest recesses of her mind happily bathing in the blood she was spilling. The more civilized pieces of her cringed in horror, but her hidden soul reveled in it. Being an archer, she so rarely got to indulge this part of her bloodlust.

When all movement was gone, when there was no more blood to flow, she inhaled shakily. Now she just had to-

Something snatched at her ankle, and she swallowed a scream as she jumped away. "Grady," she blurted out in disbelief when she saw the bloody hand and its owner. How was he still alive? She dropped gracelessly to her knees beside him. Grabbing a handful of her dress's skirt, she bunched it against the fearful wound under his arm and applied as much pressure as she could manage.

"You killed him," he whispered.

"Shut up," she snapped. "You'll wear yourself out. It'd be a shame for your stubborn streak to fail you now."

He laughed, and blood misted out again. "No amount of," he swallowed roughly, "bullheadedness will save me from this."

"Oh, no, you don't," Lorelai protested. Batting her eyelashes in mock-innocence, she added, "You can't die, Grady. If you do, how can I have you drawn and quartered in Denerim's square?"

He laughed again, and more blood flecked his lips. "My lady, such bloodthirsty-" His next breath rattled and caught in his throat. He fought grimly to take another, a fight he seemed to be losing.

Lorelai's vision blurred and she blinked rapidly, cursing. She reached down and grabbed his hand tightly. "Grady-"

"Anora had no part in this, I swear," he coughed out. "Please, spare her, I beg you."

"And if I don't believe you?" she bit out between gritted teeth, desperately trying not to feel sadness at his dying…and failing. "What wouldn't you say to spare her?"

"Please, she is innocent," he rasped, face pale with effort. "Swear not to hurt her. Swear-"

She was not falling for this. She was not soft like her husband. She was not going to give this man her word, not for all the gold in Thedas. She was _not_ falling for this. "Fine," she whispered in defeat. "I swear."

All the fight went out of his body. "Thank you," he breathed, and Lorelai had to bend her head to hear his next words. "I'm sorry…for everything." There were no more words, and no more breath.

Tears flashed down Lorelai's cheeks. Damn it! Why was she crying for this traitor? He didn't deserve it, not after the tortuous journey she had endured because of him. And yet they wouldn't stop.

A sound of pounding feet came from the door way, and her head snapped up. Her luck, it would be mercenaries. Instead, Keep came tumbling around the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks at the scene before him. Lorelai imagined it was quite a sight: two dead men and herself covered in blood.

He slumped against the doorframe, all color draining from his face.

Oh, Andraste. She didn't see any blood or wounds, but she didn't like the look on his face, the way that all that was holding him up with the wall. "Keep," she demanded, concern making her voice sharp, "are you hurt?"

Without answering, he stared fixedly at Grady's body.

She cursed quietly to herself. "Keep, I know he was your friend, despite this mess. I'm sorry. He died because-"

"My name is Liam, Your Majesty," he interrupted, "and he was my father."


	27. Rage

**My sincerest apologies for the delay. I actually managed to have a life for a couple weeks, and then I hate writing battle/fight scenes. Also, this part of the story has always been a bit fuzzy to me. In my head it was, "Um, yeah, then they rescue her." So I had to sort all that out as I was writing. Thanks so much for your patience. Enjoy!**

**Special thanks to JacksAreWild, for beta'ing this chapter for me :)**

* * *

_What _did he just say? As she stared at him, she wanted to smack herself for not realizing his eyes were the same green as Grady's. Dear Andraste, spare her from having to suffer another shock today. She was certain that just one more would push her over the edge. "Keep-" she bit her tongue, "Liam, I'm so sorry…"

He waved her off, not looking at her. "Don't apologize. I knew this would all end in-" He cut himself off, frowning slightly. "I can't believe he gave you reason to kill him, that he'd sunk so low to," he swallowed audibly, "threaten your life."

Lorelai shook her head emphatically. "No, he didn't! _I_ didn't." She gestured with her head toward Gilmore's corpse. "_He_ killed your father." Andraste's sword, she wasn't explaining this properly. "Grady came to save me from him, and that's what got him killed."

Relieved understanding broke across his face. He shook himself, and seemed to really see her at last. "Your Majesty! Dear Maker, are you hurt?"

"No, no," she insisted, releasing Grady's cooling hand and getting to her feet. "It's his," she said to explain the blood, gesturing to Gilmore's body. Keep's – Liam's – eyes went wide as she rose. Her dress clung to her body with thick, sticky blood, and her stomach wasn't hidden by its roominess any more, even while standing.

"Maker preserve me," he whispered. "You're…you're…"

"Pregnant," she finished for him, placing her hands on her belly calmly. "It's all right, Liam. It happens all the time, usually when a woman spends time with her husband."

His cheeks flared, and the color spread to his ears. The blush was so similar to Alistair's that her heart clenched. "This whole time, you've…"

Why did all the men around her lose their minds at her current state? She needed him to keep it together. "Liam," she said firmly. "Now is not the time for this."

His eyes finally focused, and though he was still too pale, he nodded. "Right." Offering her a hand, he managed a small smile. "Let's get you out of here, Your Majesty." As she reached out to take it, he twitched it away at the last second. "You're not going to punch me again, are you?"

She bit her lip in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry-"

A deafening impact shook the air, and Liam snatched her hand and pulled her close as he looked around frantically. The sounds of more collisions followed – an unending barrage that sounded like explosions. He cursed loudly.

The bright light swallowed Lorelai's mind again, and the matriarch's insistence was borderline crushing. _[We are coming.]_ She gasped as the presence faded. The Call was there, she could feel the white-hot cord stretching between herself and the herd. But it wasn't normal. She couldn't direct them like she could other animals. It was as she feared: they were helping…with no guidance from her.

"My Queen?" Liam called, sounding frantic, like he'd called her several times already.

"We need to get out fast," she replied. "I Called some…help in a panic earlier, and they're attacking the fortress. It won't hold against them, we have to move," she explained to his stunned face.

He blinked for a second, and she watched the word "Called" with its capitalization register on his face. "Come on," he said, drawing his blades. "Stick close to me." And they were off down the corridor.

Andraste bless men who didn't ask questions.

* * *

If the Maker descended from the sky and swept his fist over the entire jungle, Alistair imagined there would be less chaos. His mouth went dry, and for a few long moments he could do nothing but stare in open-mouthed shock. The only consolation was that he could sense his companions ringed behind him, staring just as blatantly as he was.

The elephants had fanned out around the fortress's massive front gate, the smaller ones kept back by a few of what were, presumably, the adults. Reaching down with their...unbelievable noses, they were tearing apart pieces of the crumbling gauntlet of stone that circled the fortress. With great, bellowing cries and surges of more muscle than Alistair had ever seen on any living creature other than a High Dragon, they were _throwing_ the chunks of stone at the fortress.

_Trunks. Isabela says their noses are called trunks_, he thought numbly as he watched a stone the size of his shield go speeding through the air. It slammed into the outer wall, which crumbled a bit as the projectile fell away.

"Oh…my…" Sigrun whispered from somewhere behind him.

Yes, that about covered it. In the time it had taken them to get here, the battlements had been utterly destroyed. They had nothing to fear from archers; you can't shoot at invaders if there's nowhere to stand.

There was not a hint of retaliation from the fortress. Alistair couldn't imagine why. In the face of such an attack, he'd probably be hiding in the basement, cowering behind his shield.

Chatter began to break through his fascinated stupor. "Zev, let's go," Leliana was saying, raising her voice to be heard over the constant noise of the attacking elephants.

Right, the plan. They'd divided into teams. Leliana and Zevran would go back to Lorelai's cell with Anders, Oghren, Aideen, and Aednat. If Lorelai were…injured (and Alistair's mind blatantly shied away from the thought), Anders would be needed to heal her. The presence of the bulk of their warriors would ensure her safety if they had to fight their way out. Anders and Oghren would be able to track her through their shared tainted blood if she had been moved.

He was also determinedly shying away from that _other_ thought. That…_father_ thought. If he dwelled on that right now, he'd go stark, raving mad. It made Lorelai's captivity infinitely more horrible. Not to mention the fact that he was going to be partially responsible for another human being. A tiny human being. A tiny, _helpless_ human being.

What if he dropped it? What if he let it get hurt? What if it…didn't like him?

Madness was rapidly approaching. He swerved his mind away with about as much finesse and subtlety as the elephants were displaying

The plan, yes. That left Nathaniel, Sigrun, Isabela, Jacob and Shale with him. The mabari was refusing to leave his side. His team's goal was far less complex. Death. Lots of it.

Not too many warriors surrounding the precious King, but he wasn't interested in being protected. He was interested in killing. All he needed was people to watch his back…and he wasn't sure he was all too concerned with that either. In any case, Shale would be more than sufficient for that.

The talk of his companions faded away as the heavy thumping of the elephants' assault invaded his bones, thrumming in his skull. It wasn't the sound of traditional combat by any means. It actually reminded him a little bit of the final fight with the Archdemon, with the constant booming repetitions of the ballista.

Husband and Lover bellowed with the elephants, screamed in time with their bugling calls. King, pushed to the back, was in odd agreement with the other two. Take back its Queen; return her to her proper glory. A harmony with Husband's desire for its wife and Lover's need for its partner.

Blood needed to be spilled. He needed to be the one to spill it. It was the only outlet for the churning pit in his chest that he'd lived with since Sigrun and Oghren had followed him to the practice room and delivered their shocking message. He had to be rid of it, and it would only leave in a wash of others' blood.

More words cut into his awareness. "You go. I'll stay with the King," Aednat said.

"What?" Aideen snapped back. "Don't be ridiculous."

_That_ was compelling enough to get Alistair to tear his eyes away from the destruction going on in front of him. Aednat was smiling gently at Aideen's snarl. She stepped close to her "twin", and whispered something in her ear. The brunette stiffened, pulling back and shooting the other elf a glare. Aednat squeezed her arm gently before stepping up beside Alistair.

"You sure?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He couldn't fathom Aednat's desire to be away from Aideen, or Zevran for that matter. They'd purposefully divided with new lovers in mind, so no one would be distracted wondering about their other half's situation. One could argue that the presence of a significant other could be just as distracting, but Alistair could not help but side with the former reasoning.

After all, he'd gotten to spend the Blight by his lover's side. All the way until the end. He could not fathom what it would've been like to be left at camp and watch her go. He would not force his companions to watch their lovers go.

"I'm sure," she said with a nod.

A great, wrenching noise screeched through the air, and everyone whipped their heads around. An enterprising elephant was trying to yank the front gates clean off their enormous hinges, and the heavy wood was not holding up well to the attack.

Perfect.

Alistair glanced behind him at Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Isabela. "Don't get in my way," he said, but he tried to take as much bite out of the words as possible.

He knew he'd succeeded by Sigrun's wide grin. "Wouldn't dream of it, Your Majesty."

The wooden gate shrieked, and there was a muffled _boom_ as it toppled to the ground. The elephants shook the very ground with their triumphant voices. The one who'd torn down the gate charged inside. More followed.

"Excellent," Shale said in a tone verging on cheerful. "May I begin crushing skulls?"

"As many as you want," he assured her, feeling his own bloodlust tremble with joy at the very thought.

"Then it should lead the way."

* * *

Lorelai's world had shrunk to the white-hot cord of the Call. Everything else was background, unnecessary and fuzzy. She had vague impressions of chaos, of shaking walls and crumbling stone. They encountered occasional resistance, but only in pockets of two or three mercenaries. Liam easily dispatched them, which was good because she wouldn't have been any help even without the matriarch's iron grip.

They stopped for a minute, she thought. She leaned against the trembling wall, maybe. Her eyes didn't see the corridor. What she saw was a scrambled battlefield, great clouds of dust and debris, giant bodies, pounding feet. What she felt was stone against her skin before her muscles bunched and threw the rocky missile with deadly accuracy.

She pulled a breath in slowly. Not only did she have to try to ground herself, she had to try to get control of the Call. They'd bring the place down around herself and Liam if she didn't. The matriarch was taking her abduction very personally, for some reason. Through her, the entire herd was maddened.

"Your Majesty?" Liam asked cautiously.

His voice sounded miles away…and underwater. "I'm all right," she answered anyway, even as her vision wavered again. The corridor came into focus for a few seconds, showing her their precarious position, dust falling from the ancient ceilings as the herd decimated the structural integrity of the whole fortress. "Shoddy workmanship, this," she panted, gesturing with her head to their surroundings.

"Time will make anything shoddy, Your Majesty," he replied. "I imagine this place was as solid as a mountain once upon a time. Now…" He paused, shaking his head as he looked around. "Whatever you've Called, this ruin isn't going to hold up much longer." He patted the wall behind him. "It shouldn't be shaking like this, it shouldn't be-"

Her eyes were snatched away as the matriarch swallowed her again, drawing a surprised gasp out of her. The animal's fury surged through her, and a rumbling growl poured from Lorelai's throat.

"Maker's breath," Liam blurted out in shock, and she felt his uncertainty fill the air between them.

His oath, with its aching familiarity, brought her a tiny measure of clarity. She shouted down the cord of the Call, throwing all the control she could gather into the question, _[Why?]_

The matriarch seemed to freeze for an instant. Lorelai held her breath.

Images, memories, rode the Call back to her. Their power was like a physical blow, and she gasped again and sagged against the wall. Liam called for her desperately, but she couldn't respond. She could only watch the images in her mind with growing horror.

She saw, finally, a clear picture of the animals she had Called and was briefly fascinated by their curious forms. But her wonder was short-lived.

Through the matriarch's eyes, through her memories, atrocities were revealed.

_Men with shining steel. Terror filling the air along with choking clouds of dusts. The thick scent of blood mixing suddenly in the panic-soaked air. Screams of pain and bellows of fury made it hard to breathe, as if sound could turn solid and choke any within its hearing._

_ Bodies collapsing all around. A nearby bull charges, if only to protect his mating rights. He is cut down, same as all the others, his massive form shaking the ground as he dies, metal slicing his belly and throat._

In her very human body, Lorelai wept.

_ A mad dash, a frantic escape. Enraged shouts in the bizarre human tongue fade as they flee. Just a handful of them now, a sorry shadow of the proud family they had once been. No matriarch to guide them, the eldest of them a half-grown female whose eyes are haunted by what she's seen and felt. As all their eyes are haunted._

And so they had survived. The matriarch, so young, ascended to her power quickly, overtaking the older female. She'd pulled a family from nothing, gathering other orphans of slaughter. But all her life she'd simmered with rage, waiting for justification, waiting for an opportunity to haunt the dreams of men as _her_ dreams had been haunted.

This kind of rage was uncontrollable. Lorelai had Called them, but she did not have the reserves of strength to wield them. Not after months of loneliness and captivity, not after months without her warrior's strength to hold her, his shield to hide behind.

In her womb, her child turned and pressed himself against her body, cuddling as close to her heart as possible. It was the most extraordinary feeling in the world, stealing her momentary despair.

And from her son emanated power so clear and pure it made the Call sing with the added notes.

Both Lorelai and the matriarch stilled, awestruck.

Ranger mother, ranger son.

Lorelai seized her son's offering, wrestling his raw ability into orderly patterns. She had no idea what she was doing; she'd never experienced anything like this before. The day seemed to have that theme. The matriarch responded instantly, her rage easing and cooling as reason reasserted itself. The leader didn't exactly bow to Lorelai's authority, but the easing meant she accepted her, and her son's, direction.

Finally, the Call was hers. A small army of massive creatures she could wield like any weapon; that could be articulated as easily and precisely as she shot a bolt.

Her eyes blinked open, and she grinned widely into Liam's concerned, stricken face.

* * *

At first, Sigrun could only stand there. It wasn't like she was actually _needed_, anyway. That was clear. The…elephants had muscled their way into the courtyard, where it seemed the bastards who'd taken the Commander had been attempting to mass a counterattack. What had probably at one point been mildly organized had degenerated into chaos immediately. Who could blame them?

The elephants were slaughtering them. She'd never seen death like this, not even with the Legion. The mercenaries were crushed beneath massive feet, snapped like kindling by trunks, tossed like bags of grain. Men reduced to so much meat. It might have turned her stomach if they hadn't brought it on themselves.

"Feel the wrath of the ranger Queen of Ferelden," Nathaniel murmured beside her.

The King, slightly ahead of them, seemed at a loss for a few seconds. Then, without warning, he charged in among the elephants, looking for his share of the killing. Jacob was hot on his heels, growling and snapping.

"Bloody Stone!" Sigrun gasped as Isabela swore colorfully. Now she was just standing there for a completely different reason. She had, somewhat seriously, told Leliana she didn't need to see the King in battle to see who he truly was. Their sparring sessions had shown her.

Stone, was she wrong.

Dodging the giant grey bodies with an agility that baffled her, the King finally found what he was looking for: still-living foes. Men collapsed like felled trees as he swung his shield in a vicious arc. The shower of blood that erupted around him was shocking, despite the massacre going on around them. His sword finished off any whose skulls hadn't been crushed by the shield's impact.

"Feel the wrath of her King," she countered, finally turning to look at Nathaniel in stunned disbelief.

Her lover could do nothing but nod.

Without a word, the golem stomped off, wading in among the elephants to reach the King's side as Isabela snorted, "We're lucky idiots. Standing around like a bunch of Chantry sisters. If they weren't so occupied, we'd be dog food about now."

She had a point, and the King's back wasn't going to watch itself. Sigrun drew her blades. "Bet I kill more than you, pirate," she tossed to the tall woman.

Isabela threw back her head and laughed. "I'll take that bet, dwarf. Guess we'd better get going," Isabela said, and dashed into the fight.

Sigrun turned to Nathaniel, searching for some casual quip to dance off her tongue, but the look on his face stopped her. Concern, determination, fear. There were no words for that face. Grabbing a bit frantically, she snatched his hand, honest words of caution on her tongue instead.

Then everything changed.

The elephants, so content with a bloodbath just moments ago, suddenly stopped. As one, they turned and focused their attention on the courtyard's left wall instead. They threw themselves at it with the same gusto they'd had against the outer walls before the front gate had fallen.

Which left what looked like hundreds of mercenaries, pouring out of dozens of doorways, with nothing to occupy them.

"Nathaniel, go," she said sharply, shoving him in the direction of a nearby alcove. A short climb, and it would be an acceptable shooting position for him. As good as they were going to get at the moment.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded instead.

"Go," Aednat chimed, silent up until this point. "Your abilities aren't meant for hanging back here." When Sigrun didn't move, the elf jerked her head. "Go, I'll defend him."

For the second time, Sigrun wondered what on Thedas had made Aednat separate herself from Aideen and Zevran. In their interactions, it had seemed like Aednat had stronger feelings for the assassin than her "twin". At least in the former legionnaire's opinion.

Turning as she was bid, she focused on the King instead, and made a promise to herself. No matter what he did, what risks he took, the Commander's husband would not fall. Not while she still breathed.

* * *

Lorelai rode the crest of power, the adrenaline pulsing through her. She felt like she held a thick rope in her hands, and that rope branched out into a myriad of strings. The rope was the matriarch, and each string connected to one of the herd. She felt through the rope to the individuals. Twitch a string here, tug a string there, and each animal reacted instantly, adjusting to her whim.

Though she'd gained control, she'd also gained some of the matriarch's rage. The archer knew what it was like to drag a family together from nothing, to forge love in desperate times. To defend those who belonged to you with single-minded ferocity. The matriarch's anger had dug a small foothold in her mind, and it drove her already-considerable ruthlessness to new heights.

Lorelai had only one instruction. She articulated it with images, but the words rang down the Call just the same. _[Bring it down.__]_

The herd swung to her new goal, purpose filling them where only murderous anger had filled them before.

"Lorelai!" Liam shouted, shaking her by the shoulders.

She jerked her eyes open. When had she closed them? She gave a giddy, power-drunk laugh, "Ha! I was beginning to think you didn't even know my name."

He managed to look uncomfortable. "You weren't answering to anything else."

"I'll be certain to let my mabari give you a ferocious licking as punishment for your insolence," she teased, dissolving into giggles before she'd finished speaking.

"We need to go," he said slowly, patiently, though his face was anything but calm.

Lorelai looked around them, striving to focus on her surroundings, and not the fascinating power of the Call. Things had gotten worse, the shaking was increasing. It should be, after all. She'd given her army a command, which they were joyfully obeying.

"Right," she said, swallowing hard. She had to fight the lure of the Call, or she'd lose herself in it again, and be about as useful as dead weight to Liam. "Sorry, the Call is…"

"I gathered," he assured her. "I need you to stay with me."

"I will," she said, then revised her opinion as the Call, fueled by her son's power, pulled on her. "I'll try."

Liam gave her a semi-sour grin. "Not the vote of confidence I was looking for, but it will have to do." He took her hand, and they started walking. They only made it a few feet when Lorelai stumbled to a stop. Liam just barely caught her, or she would've fallen. "What is it?"

At first, she couldn't even speak. The cool, tingling was assaulting her from every angle. This had nothing to do with her ranger abilities, this was-

"Wardens," she finally pushed out between gritted teeth. She could feel them all, seething through the walls. The nuances of their tainted blood told her all she needed to know. From somewhere to her left Anders and Oghren. From somewhere to her right and down Nathaniel, Sigrun, and…Alistair. "Oh, Andraste," she whimpered.

She was worse than careless, worse than ignorant. She had not even _thought_ of them this whole time. And now Andraste only knew exactly where they were…and she'd bid her army to tear the place to pieces.

_[Stop!]_ she commanded.

The matriarch reined in the herd, but the damage had been done. Lorelai felt it vibrating through her feet. The fortress could take the demolition no longer. The vibration was increasing, gaining momentum like a charging bull.

The walls had fallen. The whole place was coming down.

* * *

Alistair bathed in blood, seeking to fill the pit in his chest, but it seemed bottomless. No matter, it would fill…eventually.

The elephants had been kind enough to redirect themselves, choosing to attack the courtyard's walls instead of the men. See, his wife's minions didn't feel the need to protect him like a coddled baby bird. Why wasn't everyone else this helpful?

He was dimly aware of everyone around him – of Isabela's lightning quick blades and Jacob's muscular jaws, of Shale's crushing fists and Sigrun's indomitable fortitude. Occasionally the enemies around him sprouted arrows from their chests and necks, and that's how Alistair knew Nathaniel was at work.

The mercenaries kept coming, wave after wave of them. Their numbers seemed endless. Good. The pit seething below his heart was in no danger of filling up. He'd kill them until he was satiated.

Suddenly, Shale knocked him backwards with a sweep of her fist. He stumbled over the many dead and sprawled on his backside. Fury filled him, that she would dare to stop him from killing.

"Is it so moronic that it can't feel it?" she boomed from above him, her blood-splattered jewels gleaming brightly.

He took a breath to snap at her, when two things happened at once. First, he _did_ feel it, a barely-audible grinding of stone against stone. Hardly a noise, more like a sensation, but it set his teeth on edge all the same. Second, the whispering, crawling-of-insects sensation that had been a homecoming to him so many years ago, that had saved him from an empty life as a templar, was suddenly screaming. It pulled at him like he was a fish on a line, pulled him so hard it dragged him to his feet.

"Lorelai," he whispered and his blood-drugged mind saw its opening. A break in the flow of mercenaries. Without a backward glance, he barreled through the empty doorway, leaving the astounded shouts of his companions behind. He left them to scramble after him, and barely heard the grinding of stone turn into a cascade of thunder and falling rock.

* * *

Nathaniel's jaw fell open at the scene before him, and he nearly dropped his bow. The golem knocked the King down, and seconds later the Commander's presence slammed into him, staggering him. The King then – Maker help them all – dashed off into the fortress through a doorway on the right-hand side of the courtyard, following the trail of the Commander's Warden blood.

But it was the work of the elephants that made the archer's knees start trembling.

They'd abandoned their manslaughter before, and had been systematically undermining the left side of the courtyard since then. Their focus was brutal, and it was only a matter of time before…

He blinked rapidly, trying to keep breathing, as the entire left side of the courtyard, and subsequently the left side of the fortress itself, acknowledged defeat.

In a wave of broken stone and a cloud of dust that grew as if it had a life of its own, the left wall collapsed inward. The elephants raised their voices in victory, as the courtyard wall melted into the fortress behind it. A domino effect was happening, as the destruction gained momentum and the ancient stronghold gave way, crumbling in on itself.

The effect on Nathaniel's perch was immediate. He was shaken to the ground, landing with a grunt on his hands and knees, his bow skidding away from him. He watched, enthralled, for a few moments as his bow jigged across the ground from the miniature earthquake the dying fortress was creating.

Because the elephants had directed the destruction inwards, it didn't spill into the courtyard too badly. He raised his head to see his companions all relatively safe. Sigrun, in particular, looked no worse for wear. Nathaniel let out a shaking breath, relief almost making him laugh.

"Come on, Warden," Aednat said, hauling him to his feet.

"We have to go after him," he gagged, even as Jacob gained his feet and disappeared through the same doorway as the King.

"Aye," she agreed, then grunted with satisfaction as the golem dispatched the last of the mercenaries into a bloody pulp.

As they joined up with the rest of their team, the elephants milled around, as if they weren't sure what to do next. "Have a nice fall?" Isabela asked.

"Sure," Nathaniel answered sarcastically. "I should do it everyday."

"You OK?" Sigrun asked.

"Yes, dear," he said, smiling broadly for her. "You?"

"Yeah," she nodded, grinning back. Her happiness faded around the edges after a few seconds. "The place is going to go. _I'm_ going after him, but no one else has to. It's dangerous."

"What a thing to say," Isabela snorted. "As if _now_ someone is going to turn tail and run."

"All right," Sigrun shrugged, then winked at Nathaniel, melting his heart with her bravery and adorably infuriating recklessness. "Let's go."

* * *

Liam's eyes widened at the vibrations, and he dragged her forward. He bent down, intending to pick her up.

"No, don't," she protested, shoving him.

"You can't run."

"And _you_ can't keep your footing and carry me." She squeezed his hand. "The fastest way outside, wherever that is, _now_."

He swallowed, nodding, and led the way. Lorelai kept up as best she could. She could feel the matriarch and her herd waiting for orders, but at the moment, Lorelai had none to give. She wouldn't risk anything else until she had found her people. It would be Andraste's own mercy if she hadn't accidentally killed any of them already.

Well, at least she could be sure she hadn't killed any of the Wardens. Their presence was still bombarding her, rivaling the Call for dominance in her head. If they were dead, the surge of their tainted blood would've been snuffed out.

A small pack of mercenaries appeared in their path, materializing from one of the myriad of doors that seemed to pepper the place. Lorelai had a moment to think in frustration, _How many rooms are there in here?_ before shrinking back against the wall, leaving Liam as much room as he needed.

"Come on," he panted as the final one slid off his blade to slump to the ground. Lorelai took his hand, but stumbled over one of the bodies, going down to her knees in front of him.

The presence of "Warden" was suddenly so thick Lorelai's breath faltered in her lungs. She whipped her head to the left, looking in the direction they'd been heading before this last scuffle.

There he was.

Shrouded in blood, shining steel only sneaking occasional winks and gleams in certain places. Amber eyes burning through the slits in his helm. Chest heaving with massive effort.

"Alistair," she whispered, turning towards him as instinctively as a flower turns toward the sun.


	28. Hugs and Kisses

**WARNING: Isabela will be talking. There will be cursing. **

**That is all :P**

**Thanks again to JacksAreWild for doing a grammar check for me :)**

* * *

She felt his rage fill the corridor, rippling past her like a gusting wind. Confusion dampened her excitement for a moment, until horror cleared her mind.

How must this look? She, on her knees, covered in blood before a man her husband couldn't know had saved her life. Oh, Andraste.

Liam came to the same conclusion she had, and released his grip on her hand like she'd caught fire. Unsure of what would snap him out of it, Lorelai didn't move. She feared backing away would fuel the impression that Liam intended to harm her.

Alistair began stalking down the hallway, closing the distance between them. Quickly.

Lorelai knew that look on his face. It was not a good one.

She scrambled to her feet to block Liam with her body. "Alistair, no!" she shouted. "He's a friend!"

He'd almost reached them, with no sign that he'd registered her words at all.

Her entire body tensed. Was it so much to ask that she have a normal, _happy_ reunion with her husband? Well, as normal and happy as one could get under these circumstances. Instead, she had to try to derail his battle fervor. Not an easy thing under regular conditions, let alone this. But if she didn't, Liam was going to die.

"Back up," she hissed over her shoulder. He didn't argue, and he won her loyalty all over again. Alistair would literally have to come through her to get to him. Now, what? Inspiration bubbled to the forefront of her mind, tugging on her consciousness insistently. She reached for it, and found Warden Commander. Pleading to be useful.

Before he'd been her King, her husband, her lover, her friend…he'd been her fellow Warden. But _she_ wasn't just a Warden anymore.

She stretched her arm out, a finger pointed imposingly at his chest. "You will _stop_, Warden!" she thundered as loud as she could, as firmly as she could.

That did it.

Alistair shuddered to a stop as the unreasoning rage left his eyes. His shield and sword clattered to the trembling floor, and he yanked off his helm and let that fall, as well. "Lorelai?" he whispered, tears threading the edges of his voice and his eyes a touch wild.

She inhaled sharply as she dropped her arm, his face a shock to her after so long. With Liam safe, she could let her heart tremble at the sight of him. She tried to speak but couldn't suddenly. Her own tears spilled down her face as she nodded frantically.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, as his eyes flickered over her blood-soaked clothes.

Still feeling like she couldn't trust her voice, she shook her head. Some of the wildness left his eyes, but he continued to stand there, a mere few feet from her. His whole body was rigid. Unable to take it any longer, Lorelai reached out toward him. "Alistair," she begged, desperate to touch him.

His breath came out in a sob as his face crumbled. He grabbed her reaching hands and pressed them hard against his cheeks. His eyes squeezed shut, so tight, and forced two tears down his blood-streaked cheeks. "Oh, Maker. I thought… I thought…"

"I know," she soothed. "It's not mine, none of it's mine."

"It's a lot," he emphasized, eyes still shut, like at the moment it was too much to see her covered in all that blood, even though he knew it wasn't hers. "A _lot_."

Lorelai couldn't help but let out a watery laugh. "I know."

After a few more moments filled with shaking breaths, he opened his eyes a crack. They traveled the length of her, and stumbled over her belly.

Andraste damn this whole situation! This was _not _how she wanted to have this conversation with him. Many months ago, she'd imagined cuddling onto his lap, nuzzling his ear and whispering oh-so-softly that he was going to be a father. Instead… "Love-"

"I know," he echoed. Closing his eyes again, he added, "Leliana told me."

Lorelai hissed as anger made her throat hot and tight. The Orlesian would answer for that small betrayal. The reasoning behind it had better be phenomenal.

"Don't be mad," he said, interpreting her look. "I was being a complete idiot, and she'd run out of other things to say that would stop me."

Slightly mollified, Lorelai let her anger subside. But she would be damned if she wasn't going to get _some_ pleasure out of this moment. She wasn't about to let Grady and Gilmore steal all the joy from her condition. Pulling her hands off his cheeks, she took hold of his wrists and pushed his hands against her stomach. "Our son, my King," she whispered fiercely. "Our _son_."

"Son?" His voice was filled with wonder, and it made Lorelai's heart sing. Alistair's big hands splayed over her rounded belly, trying to cover all of it, as he stared. When he finally raised his eyes, his face was twisted with anguish. "I'm so sorry-"

"No," she interrupted, squeezing his wrists as hard as she could. Sniffing back her own tears, Lorelai shook her head, "Don't you even-"

"Your Majesty, we have to go," Liam urged from behind her.

Her King shot him a hostile look, and pulled her a few steps closer to him, away from Grady's son. She was about to scold him when the background sounds of groaning rock started getting alarmingly loud.

Oh, right. The whole standing-in-a-collapsing-fortress thing. "Let's go."

Liam side-stepped around them, giving Alistair as much space as possible. Giving the other man a semi-bow, he reached down to pick Alistair's sword and shield off the ground. "Your Majesty," he said quietly, offering them up.

Lorelai could see the tightness in her husband's jaw as his teeth ground together. But he accepted his weapons, if with poor grace. Without thinking, she reached down like she was going to get his helm.

"What are you doing?" they both snapped simultaneously.

She could've pointed out that she'd been spry enough to slay Gilmore – to bend down and pick up the wooden club that had been her salvation, to jump on top of him and slit his throat. But neither of the men with her now had seen that. They saw her as the rescued, pregnant damsel. Lorelai had had _enough _of being helpless.

But then she stalled the sharp retort that was on her lips. "Right, sorry," she said, straightening up and holding out her hands like she was surrendering.

Alistair snatched his own helm off the finely trembling floor and shot her a disgusted look. "Honestly, woman."

Lorelai said nothing, and shoved her pride aside to enjoy the first coddling she'd gotten to have while pregnant.

Nodding to Liam, Alistair slipped his helm back on and sheathed his sword. Pinning her to his side with his free arm, he braced the shield out in front of them firmly, as if he expected enemies at any moment.

Not a bad assumption.

Liam, blades drawn, took the lead. As they started walking, Alistair bent his head and asked, "Are you all right, or do you need me to carry you?"

"No, I'm fine," she answered, leaning her face against his breastplate. It didn't bother her that it was sticky with blood. Nothing like that could bother her right now. Not with that arm around her and that shield in front of her.

Liam turned a corner, only to be bashed backwards by a metallic and blonde blur. He went down with a crash, and his attacker straddled him, sword flashing forward, intending to decapitate him.

"Aednat!" Alistair shouted.

It worked, barely. The blonde elf managed to stop with her sword inches from Liam's throat, her shield temporarily cast aside to free up both hands for optimum strength. "My apologies, Your Majesty," she hissed into Liam's face, leaning over him. "Did you want to kill this one?"

Lorelai moved Alistair's shield out of the way so she could be seen. "Your Arlessa orders you to stand down."

Aednat flinched as she whipped her head around. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled off of Liam. "Forgive me, my lady," she responded. The elf turned and offered a hand to the man she'd nearly killed.

Swallowing hard, Liam took her hand and got to his feet. Once standing, his fear of the blonde warrior seemed to melt away. He stared at her face for a moment, then groped around blindly at his feet until he came up with her shield. "Yours, my lady."

Aednat accepted her shield as her cheeks flushed scarlet.

Lorelai bit her lip to keep the laughter from bursting out. Perhaps she should get kidnapped more often; it seemed to have amazing match-making potential.

"Oh, do _not_ tell me you're standing here undressing a man with your eyes at a time like this!" snapped a voice Lorelai hadn't heard in years.

She looked, and Isabela was stomping down the corridor, Nathaniel and Sigrun in tow. But the archer only had eyes for the mabari hound bounding in front of them. Her beautiful, blood-soaked Jacob.

Oh, if she broke down now, they may as well take a seat and wait for the fortress to crush them. Grasping his massive head between her hands, she pressed a quick kiss between his eyebrows. "I thought I'd lost you, brother," she whispered against his fur, and even that was almost too much, almost undid her.

"All right, no more reunions!" Isabela barked. "I'm sure you lovebirds," she glared at Alistair and Lorelai, "have wasted quite enough time. We left that great, whacking golem at the entrance, but it's not like it'll be able to hold the place up. Let's go, get going, move." She swatted at Aednat with one of her daggers.

The elf, thoroughly chagrined, immediately started back the way they'd come. Liam kept right on her heels, obedient as a puppy. Lorelai looked past the pirate Queen to see her Wardens.

It wasn't the happy, relieved-beyond-measure looks on their faces that drew her eyes and made her throat tight…but their tightly clasped hands. Some dim piece of her mind couldn't help but wonder if they'd finally found what they were looking for. Right in front of them all these years.

She could only hope that two other Wardens had, against odds and tradition, found love.

"No, no way!" Isabela shouted before any of them could say anything. "Outside, under the bloody, great sky. Not in here!"

"All right, all right, you filthy wench," Sigrun snorted. She dragged her archer back down the corridor at a run.

Isabela turned blazing eyes on Lorelai and Alistair. "We're going, we're going! Don't yell!" Alistair said hastily, sweeping Lorelai against his body again.

The pirate glared, and Lorelai saw fear rimming the edges of her eyes.

"Move, love," she whispered.

He did.

* * *

Maker damn every single one of those sappy, sentimental _idiots_. Isabela stood in the dust-choked courtyard, taking in gulping breaths of air as she waited for the crushing claustrophobia to leave her chest. What would they have done without her, exactly? Had all their bloody hugs inside while the walls came down around their fucking ears? She couldn't even look at them right now, or she'd start shouting again. Best not to shout at the royals unless all their bloody lives were in danger, right?

Not that keeping her back to them was much better. On the opposite side of the courtyard – could you call it a courtyard anymore, without half its walls? – stood the elephants. They shuffled their massive feet, as if at a loss for what to do. Isabela did _not_ like them all staring at her, or even in her direction. And this wasn't even the whole herd; some had stayed out of the courtyard.

Dear Maker.

She turned around, determined not to lose her temper with the royalty. The Warden – Queen, whatever – was trying to haul Howe to his feet. He seemed determined to prostrate himself on the ground in front of her, though.

Andraste take the _lot_ of them. Was this a fucking picnic, and no one had mentioned it to her? She took a deep breath, getting ready to yell at them _again._

Any berating she had in mind was drowned out as, with one final heart-stopping screech of stone, the fortress lost its fight with age, gravity, and the elephants' fatally weakening assault.

The elephants bugled in alarm, managing to be heard over the deafening collapse. They surged forward, even as everyone else scrambled backwards toward the center. Isabela stood her ground, or at least that's what she would tell anyone who asked. In actuality, she was frozen with fear. Afraid to move into the elephants' ways. They moved past her, placing themselves between the not-long-for-this-world remaining courtyard wall and the people. The Queen, in particular.

Of course. They wouldn't let their puppeteer be harmed.

Isabela frowned at the bitter twist of her words. Well, apparently she'd been terrified one too many times today, and it had burned her politeness away. As long as she kept it in her head, everything would be fine.

The final courtyard wall smashed to the ground. For whatever miracle, it didn't fall towards them. Not really. It just crumbled, going from organized wall to mess of broken stone in a very safely downward way.

Everyone was coughing up their lungs as the ancient dust from ancient stones billowed around them. For a few moments, Isabela couldn't see a thing. The claustrophobia returned again, strangling the breath in her throat. She swallowed past it and marched forward. Surely she'd see a looming elephant body before she ran into one.

She found them just as the dust was finally clearing, elephants and people and mabari. The destruction was total, and what had once been a fortress was now just a treacherous pile of stone. The jungle would reclaim it eventually. It took everything back.

Trying to be as civil as possible, she waved her arms in the direction of the jungle. "Can we get away from this wreck now? I promise you, you can have all the hugging and kissing on my ship that you like, but I really want-"

"Aideen," the blonde elf interrupted suddenly. Her right hand, as if without her instruction, groped out wildly. It found the stranger beside her, and snatched his hand like it was the last stable thing in the world. "The others."

Isabela choked on the rest of her sentence. Zev. The perky bard and her love sick mage. The other elf, the brunette one. The drunken dwarf. _Zev_.

Everyone paled, except the golem. The Warden Queen closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. Her King instinctively reached out to steady her, but turned his face towards the rubble.

"I can't feel them," Sigrun moaned, and she turned quickly, burying her face in Howe's chest.

"I feel magic," Alistair said quietly, staring out across the mountain of broken stone searchingly.

Lorelai opened her eyes and grabbed him. "Where?"

He smiled at her, and kissed her forehead. "This way, come on." Taking her carefully by the hand he led the way. The others followed, keeping desperately close as if proximity to him would speed the search. Lorelai spared a backwards glance, and the elephants moved as one, following the group out of the ruined courtyard.

Leaving Isabela standing alone.

She took a deep breath, momentarily shutting her eyes. Pushing all thoughts of Zev to the back of her mind, she instead focused on the bottle of brandy she had waiting in her cabin.

There, now she had her composure back.

* * *

Alistair didn't really need to think; it was like breathing for him to sense magic. All that damned templar training. Morrigan used to torment him in the camp, deliberately making even the most mundane magic "loud", ripping into the Fade instead of gently sliding in, until his head was throbbing with it. Since no one could sense it but him, she'd gotten away with it. Complaining to Lorelai had been out of the question. Mostly because he was trying to impress her. Whiny, sniveling almost-templars aren't generally impressive.

It was good that he didn't need to think, really good. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to sense much of anything if organized thought were required.

Husband and Lover had finally fallen quiet, and King had pulled away with them. His mind was his own again, not dominated by facets of himself that were all clamoring for their demands to be met. He was whole again, the sum of his parts.

He had her back.

He wanted to just fall down at her feet, wrap his arms around her waist, and cry. That was first and foremost. Next, he was going to inspect every inch of her to make certain she wasn't hurt. Not that he didn't believe her, of course. More that he had to assure himself that those kidnapping bastards hadn't touched her. Then, he would hold her in his arms for as long as she would let him. If she wanted to go somewhere, he would carry her. Preferably, he didn't want to let her go or put her down until they were back in the palace in Denerim. After that, she wasn't really allowed out of his sight. Ever again.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, he had so many questions. Where had she been, the whole time Nathaniel had been searching? Did she think Anora was or wasn't behind this? Who was the man who, at this very moment, was hovering close to the distraught Aednat? Where in the Maker's name had all that _blood_ come from? Where was Grady, so Alistair might split his heart and watch the man's life bleed out of his eyes?

How did she know she was carrying a son?

He bit his tongue, though it was hard, especially about Grady. There were more important things at hand. Aednat's face was enough to drive him forward. He didn't share her anxiety; he could feel the magic Anders was casting somewhere under the rubble. He knew they lived. Or at least Anders did.

Following where the rubble met the gauntlet of old stone that ringed the former fortress, what used to be the outer wall, Alistair let that whispering in his mind pull him gently.

"Love, are you sure?" Lorelai asked worriedly, her grip on his hand tight.

The blessed sound of her voice, no longer an echo between his ears but real and here and with him, made him go fuzzy for a second. He pulled himself together to answer her. "Anders is alive, I promise."

"Just him?" she asked desperately.

"I don't think so," he replied, trying to be reassuring. It was hard to explain something that was obvious to him, but to no one else.

"Please, darling, you're killing me," she said frantically. "If they're dead, _any of them_, it's my fault. I asked the herd to tear the fortress down. I was so angry, so-"

"Hey," he interrupted, turning to look over his shoulder at her. As distressed as she was, he didn't like the look in Aednat's eye. If he stopped walking to comfort Lorelai, he worried the elf might just snap. "I'm sorry, I'll explain better." From the corner of his eye, he saw Aednat perk up, listening as well. "I feel Anders pulling from the Fade. It's continuous, like he's maintaining…something. Now, he could be doing that if he were massively healing someone-"

Aednat let out a whimper, and the stranger gave her hand a squeeze.

Alistair hurried on. "-but if that's what he's doing, then where are they?"

There was a pause, then his beautiful wife answered, "You think he's made a shield, and they're holed up under the rubble. That's why we can't sense them; the shield is blocking the taint."

"Yes," he said.

"Thank Andraste," she breathed, her face filling with relief. Everyone let out a sigh, and the tension in their little group dropped significantly.

Maker, it was bizarre to be the level-headed one for a while. Normally it was Lorelai who kept his feet on the ground, kept his battle instincts leashed by her side as surely as if he were on a chain. Now, they were all looking at him, and they were all relieved by his assurances. They'd needed hope, and he'd given it to them.

King whispered, rippling along the edges of his mind. Maybe _this_ was the kind of ruler he was meant to be.

He allowed himself a moment to be dazzled by the procession of elephants following quietly behind them, as silent as they'd been loud before. The animals looked no worse for their brutal use of their bodies. A few bloody gashes, their great bodies coated liberally with pulverized rock and old mortar. But they were as bright-eyed and imposing they'd been at the start.

Alistair's feet stopped before his mind could issue an order. He looked out over the rubble, and felt the magic chiming in his head. The source of the chiming wasn't too far in, but far enough that this could be problematic.

"Where is it, love? Show me," Lorelai asked.

"About thirty paces in," he answered obediently. "Straight in."

"How are we going to get them out?" demanded Isabela. She waved an angry hand at the masses of fallen rock. "We've got _one _golem, not a whole bloody herd of them!"

Lorelai smiled, a fiercely proud one that very nearly overwhelmed Alistair with its familiarity and beauty. "No, but we do have them." She flicked her head at the herd behind them.

Isabela seemed to swallow her anger, even as her eyes blinked rapidly. She stole a glance at the silent titans behind them and swallowed again. "Your elephants have brawn, sure, but what about brains? What's to keep this fucking wasteland from shifting once they start moving rocks around?"

"Isabela," Nathaniel said sternly. Alistair was fairly sure the archer was reprimanding her for her language in front of Lorelai…which was almost hilarious. If only Howe had been with them during the Blight, and heard Bryce Cousland's daughter's filthy mouth.

"Elephants," Lorelai repeated, looking at the animals like she'd never seen them before. It occurred to Alistair that just because she was communicating with them, didn't mean she knew what people called them. He didn't imagine the elephants called themselves "elephants", did they?

As the look of understanding faded from her eyes, it was replaced with doubt. Isabela's concern was valid, and strength would not guarantee safety.

"I can," Sigrun said suddenly.

"Can what?" snapped Isabela.

"I can keep this _fucking_ wasteland from shifting," the dwarf retorted sharply, her eyes gleaming.


	29. Stone

**HOLY PHOENIX FROM THE ASHES, IT'S A CHAPTER OF HEED THE CALL! **

**I could sit here, and give you the thousand-and-one excuses for why this story dropped off the map. Instead, I'll just tell you what brought it back. I recently got a new PS3, losing all my previous DAO saves. I began a new Cousland playthrough (and by "new" I mean copying my old one exactly), so that I could import the save when I started replaying DA2. Within minutes of starting the game, the desire to poke at Heed the Call came flooding back. Writer's block that seemed so insurmountable was easily overcome. **

**I am in a better place in my life than I was back then, and I feel like my desire to write and create and imagine again is proof of that. Hope you enjoy :) And thanks for sticking with me, all you readers. And if you're new...welcome :)**

**Thanks to JacksAreWild for helping me tidy up :)**

* * *

Sigrun wiped her nervous, sweaty palms against her leathers. It didn't help much; it just kind of spread the moisture around. She tried to breathe evenly, to not let anyone know how terrified she was. They couldn't know; everything was resting on her. She was the only hope they had.

By the _Stone_, that was horrifying. She needed to not think that again.

"Sigrun," the King asked quietly, "which one next?"

She forced herself to look up at him, and to wipe all traces of doubt from her face. Dust and dirt danced in the flickering light off the lantern he held, casting his patient features in moving shadows. The light bounced off the ceiling of the tunnel they'd created and seemed to get tangled up in his hair.

The sight of the tunnel's ceiling helped to ground her, remind her of who and _what_ she was. She may have been just a duster once, but that didn't make her any less of a dwarf. Born and raised in Orzammar. Casteless yes, so she was no engineer, but that didn't mean she didn't know her stone.

Keystones. It was all about the keystones.

Normally, they go last while making an archway. But in tunnel collapses, they were already in place, or poised to fall just enough to _become_ keystones. Just find them, and the stones relying on them, and remove the rest. Simple…really.

"Sigrun," the King repeated gently.

"Right, sorry," she muttered. Forcing herself to focus, to just go with her gut instinct, she looked at the mass of wall in front of them. She let her eyes wander, falling into the cracks and crevices between the rocks, pooling into them like the shadows. "There," she said, pointing. "That's the next keystone." She turned, looking over her shoulder. "Do you see?"

The elephant behind her looked where she pointed, and then stepped forward. It wrapped its trunk around a stone nearer to the floor, and then turned slightly, glancing back at Sigrun.

"That one's fine," she said, smiling slightly.

With a mighty pull, the stone was removed. Sigrun held her breath for a second, and she could feel the King next to her, doing the same. The roof held, not a single stone even twitched.

The elephant passed the stone backwards, down the waiting line of the herd. A seemingly endless line of behemoths, all the way back to the tunnel's entrance. The stone disappeared down the makeshift bucket brigade of trunks. Back to the outside world, to air and sunlight.

"Glad you know what you're doing," the King said dryly.

Sigrun giggled nervously, and turned her eyes back to the stone.

* * *

Nathaniel stood, arms crossed. His fingertips drummed against his skin repeatedly, to the point where he'd lost feeling in the bit of skin he was tapping against. That didn't get him to stop, though. He had to do…_something_, and apparently that was all the release his body was going to get.

He stared into the depths of the tunnel, memorizing all that he could see, until the light penetrated no further, and his eyes saw nothing but black. He watched the play of the elephants' muscles beneath their skins, until their forms melded into the darkness. The ever-growing nearby pile of removed rubble changed shape with every additional stone.

Sigrun was in there. Finding keystones. If the tunnel went, there would be no way for her to escape. She'd never make it past the elephants in her way. Not to mention, she was so deep in there by now, it didn't matter much. Even with a clear shot, she'd never make it.

His fingers clenched against his arm

"How are you doing over there, Nathaniel?" the Commander asked, her tone slightly amused.

"Fine." He released his fingers' tension on his arm, and watched the half-moon nail marks fill with blood.

"Sure," she agreed. "Why don't you come sit down with me?"

"I'll be a pretty terrible bodyguard if I sit down."

"You're a pretty terrible bodyguard as it is, since you're staring into that tunnel," she pointed out.

Nathaniel hung his head, and turned to face his blood-soaked, pregnant Commander. "Not funny," he said, "considering that's what got us into this mess in the first place."

She raised an eyebrow as her expression grew stern. "Not that again, Nathaniel. Even if it _were_ your fault, which it's not, I think it's safe to say you've made up for it."

"Nothing I can ever do will make up for this."

"Nathaniel," she said sharply. "Sit. Down. Now."

"But I-"

"I am surrounded by _elephants_, not to mention a golem," she snapped. "I'm not exactly concerned for my safety." The Commander pointed into the depths of the tunnel. "You are thinking about Sigrun. That's perfectly all right, but my composure can't handle you looming like a thunder cloud _and_ worrying about our friends _and_ keeping the communication open between the elephants and Sigrun. So, sit _down_!"

His legs folded, and he half-sat, half-flopped to the ground.

"Thank you," she said. "Every cool head we can manage is appreciated."

Nathaniel glanced around him. Isabela was pacing near the edge of the jungle, as far away from the elephants as she could get. She would occasionally glance at the tunnel, then turn away quickly, as if she couldn't bear the sight of it.

Aednat sat near the wall of rubble, hands clasped in her lap, staring listlessly into space. The stranger, Liam, sat near her. He rubbed her back in soothing, repetitive circles. Nathaniel couldn't be sure if Aednat noticed his presence or not. The golem stood near the edge of the forest too. But not because it was agitated by anything going on. It was actually being a bodyguard, scanning the forest for movement.

Jacob lay next to the Commander, his head draped in her lap. He stared up at her in pure adoration, as if he could lay there forever and his life would be complete. The Commander absently stroked his fur.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed.

"For?" she prompted, still glaring at him.

"For being unhelpful," he answered quickly. She had clearly had enough of his opinions about her kidnapping. He supposed he'd just keep them to himself from now on.

She gave him a small nod.

He let out a relieved sigh. At least she wasn't glaring at him anymore. Unconsciously, his eyes drifted back to the tunnel, peering into the shadow again, as if he could will Sigrun into sight.

"Do you know what I see?" the Commander asked softly.

He turned to her, and saw the distant look on her face. "What?" he answered quietly, not wanting to distract and yet wanting to hear more than anything about what was going on.

Her eyes lost focus a little bit more, but her hand never stopped moving across Jacob's body. "Stone," she said after a few moments. "Stone everywhere." Her forehead wrinkled a little as she frowned. "They don't like it, it's not natural. Stone above their heads. Stone on either side. This is no place for any creature to live. They almost cannot bear it." Her face softened. "This small one, smaller than the rest. The one born in darkness, who reads the stone. They see how she could live there. She shines, like a dark sun. If all her people are like this, it is no small wonder they can dwell in the darkness."

Nathaniel stared at the Commander, scarcely daring to breathe. He knew it was her talking, translating. And yet it felt like he was hearing something else speak, something he'd never heard before, and that something was sitting right in front of him sharing its secrets.

Her mouth curved in a wide grin. "The one who reads the stone is kind and brave. She is smaller than the rest, and yet she fears us not."

The answering smile on Nathaniel's face faltered a bit. He didn't know if it was good that the Commander had switched from saying "they" when she spoke of the elephants to "us".

"We hear pounding," she said, tilting her head to the side like she was listening to something along with them. "Pounding hearts. Heart beats, coming through the ground. We are there-" She wrenched her head around to stare at the jungle with unseeing eyes. The elephants near the entrance to the tunnel had also turned to face the jungle. They raised their trunks up, and with great inhales, pulled huge whiffs of scent in.

The Commander sniffed along with them, as if she shared their senses. Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the dense foliage. Jacob raised his head, his own nose twitching. He got to his feet with that eerie mabari grace as a growl soared out of his throat.

Nathaniel watched the dog's fur raise on end before he found his voice. "Commander?"

Isabela's voice came from behind him. "And just what could possibly be going wrong _now_?"

"Commander," Nathaniel said more firmly. If he couldn't get her to tell them what was going on, they'd be caught sorely unprepared for whatever it was. The ground beneath his feet suddenly seemed to shake. He crouched low in panic. Was the fortress collapsing more? Sigrun-

He lurched to his feet, only to realize the ground wasn't moving at all. What he'd thought was an earthquake was the elephants. Those near the entrance were…rumbling. The sound was so vast and deep, it pulsed through the ground like tremors.

"Your Majesty?" asked the stranger, Liam. He'd pulled Aednat to her feet, and come over to the Commander's side. He reached out to touch her.

"Don't," Nathaniel said, drawing a dagger before he could stop himself. He didn't know this man. The Commander may say he was a friend, but she wasn't herself at the moment and couldn't vouch for him.

"Howe," snapped Aednat.

"Being careless was what got her into this mess. I'll not make that mistake ever again," he countered.

"She was like this is the fortress," Liam said, his eyes hot with anger as he faced the Warden. "When she was talking to the elephants. She wouldn't answer when I called."

"She's not talking to these beasts!" Isabela hissed, waving an arm at the nearest members of the herd. "Look at them! They're all looking at something _in there_. And even if you're thick enough to miss their body language, the mutt is spelling it out pretty bloody clear, isn't he?" Isabela backed away from the jungle, drawing her blades. She spat out a string of curses. "Whatever's on the way, I'd wager it's not bringing tea."

"Lorelai," Liam said, grabbing her arm before Nathaniel could stop him.

She gasped and blinked her eyes as they lost their faraway look. She reflexively grabbed Liam's arm, clinging to it like a lifeboat in a raging sea.

"What is it, Commander?" Aednat asked, coming to her other side.

"There are animals coming," she said, not taking her eyes off the jungle. "Too many kinds, it's not normal."

"Well, gather them under your spell! Isn't that what you do?" Isabela sneered, but her wild eyes made her jibe weak.

"Oh yes, let me just control the herd while I also rein in some other creatures," the Commander shot back, glaring. "If it's so easy, pirate, then _you_ do it!"

"I didn't come all this way to get eaten, pretty Queen-"

"_Don't call me that_," the Commander snarled, snatching her hand away from Liam's arm in a spasm. Everyone flinched and Isabela took a couple steps back. Nathaniel could see a sheen of sweat had burst across the Commander's face, and her eyes had gone dark.

Muttering blackly to herself, the pirate turned back to the jungle, fingers flexing in jerks on the hilts of her blades.

Shooting a glance at Aednat, Nathaniel cleared his throat. "I don't suppose there are any fluffy rabbits coming, hmm?"

"Andraste's skirt, Nathaniel." The Commander barked out a laugh. "Did you just manage to make a joke?"

"Perish the thought, my lady," he replied.

She let out another laugh that could've been a sob, then shook her head. "No."

"Can you sway them? Not control them, but warn them off?" he asked. "I know you're doing a lot, but," he lowered his voice, "I'd hate to have to kill them in front of you. I know that would…hurt for you to see."

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. "Thank you for that. I'll try." She gave Isabela a look. "I'm going to have one of the elephants come near me. That all right with you?" But her tone indicated she wasn't asking permission in the slightest.

Isabela barely looked back, keeping her eyes on the massive foliage. "Whatever, just…keep it away from me."

One of the elephants stepped forward, approaching them with distance-shrinking strides. Nathaniel couldn't help but scramble back a few paces. Liam and Aednat did the same. Only Jacob stood his ground, the growl still dripping from his curled lips. The Commander draped her arm around one of the animal's tree trunk legs, resting her hand against the flat surface of a toe nail.

Maker's breath. Its toe nail was just about the size of her palm.

"Any helpfulness from you, golem?" Isabela asked.

The golem didn't even turn to acknowledge that it was being spoken to. "Perhaps it and its squishy body see a reason to panic and flap its easily breakable arms about, but until something appears that needs crushing, I don't see what comments need to be made."

"I don't know much about that creature, so I won't jump to conclusions, but is it normally that disturbing?" Liam asked Aednat.

"Yes," Isabela grunted. "All the bloody time."

"Oh," Liam said. "I suppose that's…comforting."

* * *

Alistair swallowed as the giant creature, standing crammed into a makeshift tunnel of very old and collapsed stone, the head of a long line of other giant creatures blocking any swift escape attempt out of said tunnel, fairly vibrated with tension beside him.

"What's going on?" Sigrun whispered.

"No idea," he answered tightly. He turned around, trying to see out the front of the tunnel. Light could be seen toward the end, so it wasn't like all he could see was darkness or anything. But the mass of bodies filling the tunnel made it impossible to see outside. He gave a thought to shouting for Nathaniel, but that seemed like a bad idea, considering their close quarters. If the other Warden would even be able to hear him. He assumed that if Lorelai were in danger, the elephants wouldn't be just standing here. They'd be rushing outside in a wave of gray muscle and strength.

Still… It wasn't exactly comforting. The one in front had ignored Sigrun's last helpful advice about the next stone to take. Instead, its whole presence had, well, _gone_. It was like they were standing next to a particularly lifelike statue of an elephant.

"How close are we?" Sigrun asked.

At first, Alistair just blinked at her. Then he shook his head. Right, Anders' shield. He was supposed to be keeping track of it. And he had been, really. Until all the oddness had started. He focused, re-opening his templar senses like he would part a curtain.

The presence of the shield blazed to life in his mind, like a sunbeam. "We should be just about there."

"Then I'm just going to…" She stepped gingerly around the elephant, lifting one of the stones with a grunt. She passed it to Alistair, who nearly dropped it and his lantern in surprise.

"Ah, OK." He put down the lantern and the rock, and didn't argue as Sigrun passed him another, and another, and another. He piled them against the wall, as out of the way as possible. There was a decent amount of room, for now. Depending on how much they had to move themselves, without the help of Lorelai's friends.

Sigrun let out a little yelp of pain, and cradled her hand against her chest.

"You all right?" Alistair asked, trying to worm his way around the huge, inert beast in the way.

"Yeah, I just hit my hand on something," she turned to look into the hole she'd made, narrowing her eyes intently, "that was not rock."

Alistair turned his templar senses the same way he'd turn a lantern to direct the light. To him, magic poured out of the hole Sigrun had made as if the dwarf had unstopped a fountain. "You did it," he whispered.

"What?" she asked sharply, turning to stare at him.

"They're right there," he said, a huge grin breaking out over his face.

"Ha!" Sigrun burst out. "Well, come on!" Quickly, without another thought for the frozen elephants behind them, they shifted enough of the stones to reveal the gleaming surface of a magical shield. It wasn't the entire front of it, just a hole in the mass of stones. But a hole large enough to crawl out of, definitely.

Leliana's face appeared on the other side, and it was like looking at the bard through the surface of a lake. But the relief and joy on her face was abundantly clear.

* * *

Lorelai came rushing back to her body with a gasp. Her fingers dug into the elephant's foot, trying to ground herself. It bore the assault tolerably. Fear rushed her tongue with a metallic taste, and hatred came on its heels quickly. She wished she were a mage, so she could raise Gilmore from the dead and kill him again.

One last trick, one last plan to make sure she suffered.

"What is it?" asked Nathaniel.

"The animals that are coming, they're sick. They've been poisoned," Lorelai explained numbly. "Traps were laid for them with tainted meat."

"Tainted? Like, they're blighted?" he demanded.

"No." She shook her head. "Blighted I could control. No, a poison crafted just for me." Her lips twisted in rage and disgust. "It's made to drive them mad, and to make it impossible for a ranger to control them."

"So, they're meat-eaters and they're insane?" Isabela snorted.

"They've been drawn to all the commotion we've been making," Lorelai said with a nod. "I can't control them, and I can't warn them off. They're completely beyond me, and they're coming." She slid her eyes in a glance at the pirate. "They'll be coming for blood."

"It'll be all right, Commander," Nathaniel assured her. "Unpleasant, but all right."

Isabela snorted again. "You lot, what is it you think we're about to tangle with here? It's not going to be wolves and bears. In case you've forgotten, we're not in your precious, barbarian homeland." She licked her lips nervously. "It's going to be much worse than that."


	30. And Then There Were Sixteen

**Happy holidays, everyone! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and thanks (as always) to JacksAreWild for helping me edit things :)  
**

* * *

"Right," Aednat said, getting to her feet. She unceremoniously hauled Liam up, too. She slid her shield onto her arm and drew her sword. "You should probably get back toward the tunnel, Commander," the elf said briskly. "For a lot of reasons."

She nodded quickly, her eyes already filling with tears. These animals didn't deserve this. They had done nothing wrong, and now they had to be butchered. She had felt the painful anguish in their minds, how their bodies and teeth and feet and everything _hurt_. This wouldn't be just self defense for her and her companions; this would be mercy.

It didn't make it any easier.

"Come on, Commander," Nathaniel said, holding out a hand. She took it, and allowed him to pull her to a standing position. "Why don't you take your elephant and go back with the others? I think in these close quarters, it would be best if the elephants stayed out of it."

Lorelai nodded again, placing a hand on the elephant's leg to steady herself.

"Feel free to send them in if, you know, we're about to be eaten or something," Aednat tossed over her shoulder as Lorelai and her elephant started toward the tunnel.

"I'll keep that in mind," Lorelai said with a harsh laugh. She motioned to Jacob, waving him to her side. He would be good in a fight like this, but in the chaos, he would be just one more animal. She didn't want someone to accidentally hurt him.

Oh, Andraste, how she just wanted to go home… She bit her lip as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Not now. She couldn't let everything overwhelm her now. Once the others were safe, once this massacre was done. Once she was on Isabela's ship, riding the waves to Denerim. Then she could deal with all of this.

Just as she reached the edge of the ruins, she heard a thick growl come from behind her. She turned as Jacob's answering growl rose in intensity. There, through the jungle, were a set of eyes. But they were different, strange. Then it dawned on her: the eyes were cat-like, instead of dog-like; a sight much more common to a Fereldan.

And they were huge.

She placed her back against the ruins, as the elephants reacted. Through the cords that connected her to them, she felt their tension. They stayed back because she wanted them to, but even if she hadn't been there, their first instinct wouldn't have been to rush forward. Predators like this were too dangerous, and they would not come to hunt them, but to hunt their young.

They gathered the youngsters against the wall, near Lorelai, blocking them all with their bodies. She found herself suddenly among them, one of them directly beside her, its ears flapping in anxiety and hitting her in the shoulder. Sifting through the bright strings of light in her mind, she found the ones connecting her to the younger elephants and tried to soothe them.

Nathaniel notched his bow and aimed at the eyes. Through the wall of elephant bodies, she could see his shoulders relax as he prepared to let his missile fly. He exhaled, and released the string.

A scream, wild and primal, tore the air. It startled Nathaniel badly, turning his body at the last second and causing the arrow to shoot off into the dense undergrowth. There was another set of eyes, and another, and another.

She watched helplessly as her companions fanned out. They came out of the jungle slowly; legs crouched and bellies nearly dragging the dirt. Saliva dripped from their jaws in thick ropes, and their eyes were red-rimmed and cloudy. Their mouths were parted as they panted, revealing thick, heavy teeth.

Even in their illness, they looked deadly.

"Tigers," Isabela said, her voice a few pitches too high. "Sure, of course. Why wouldn't it be tigers?"

Shale flexed her stony fingers, and stomped toward the closest one. "Finally," she rumbled. The tiger didn't flinch from her approach, but curled its lips back and crouched to spring. It leapt at the golem, who grabbed it out of the air by the throat. It scrambled at her skin with its paws, and the sound of claws grating against rock raised goosebumps over Lorelai's skin. Shale flexed her fingers, crushing the big cat's throat and snapping its spine all at once. Its flailing ceased immediately, and she tossed its body aside.

Lorelai squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the light that was the tiger's life snuff out in her mind. Her heart gave a painful twist. This was necessary. This was necessary. She dug her fingers into Jacob's fur.

"It looks like I shall not need any of your squishiness to take care of this," Shale noted mildly. "Feel free to get out of my way."

"Shale!" Aednat shouted, a few moments too slow.

Like a swooping dragon, another cat leapt from the branches of one of the towering nearby trees directly onto the golem's back. Shale grunted, more with irritation than anything, and stumbled a few steps. Reaching behind her back, she sought for a grip to remove the maddened creature.

"Leopards, too," Isabela moaned. "Sure, why not? Wouldn't be a party without-"

Two more tigers materialized, and were snarled at by those already present. This much predatory instinct all jammed in one place was a recipe for disaster in the best of times, let alone in circumstances like this.

Shale finally managed to drag the leopard off her back. "Loathsome beast," she muttered before snapping its back over her knee. She tossed the body at a nearby tiger, causing the cat to backpedal.

Lorelai felt physically ill, and experienced brief relief that her stomach was completely empty. A high-pitched chattering noise filled the jungle, rebounding off the dense canopy and seeming to come from everywhere. The elephants rumbled again, swinging their ears and trunks, trying to pinpoint the source.

"Look, are we just going to wait for everything with teeth on this entire bloody island to get here all at once?" demanded Isabela. "Because it's apparently going to keep getting worse, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"By all means, if you want to be the first to rush the _tiger_," shot Aednat, "feel free!"

"No," Liam countered. "No one has armor cut out for this except me and Aednat," he added. "And the golem, obviously."

"So good of you to notice," Shale snorted as she approached another tiger. This one backed away from her, but Lorelai sensed no fear from it, only a deranged kind of calculation and patience.

Another of the tigers charged Nathaniel, dust flying from its gigantic paws. He dropped his bow, but he'd never pull out his daggers in time.

Lorelai flung a hand forward as she let out a wordless shout of denial, and one of the elephants rushed from the protective circle. It swung its trunk out, and smashed the tiger out of mid-air. It bounced across the ground a few times, before digging its feet beneath it to halt its momentum. It rose and stared at the elephant murderously.

Nathaniel scrambled to his feet as the elephant retreated.

The chattering came again, and again seemingly from all around them. "Anyone have a plan?" the pirate Queen demanded. "Because what's coming amounts to a pack of wolves that's used to hunting baby elephants. So, yeah, things are going to get uglier."

"And you used to come to this island all the time_ why_ exactly?" Nathaniel shouted.

Isabela grinned fiercely, becoming her old self for a moment, "Because who else in their right mind would come here?"

* * *

"Come on, Anders," Sigrun said, holding out her hand. She reached into the darkness of the tiny bubble of space the mage had maintained to save their friends' lives. He'd managed to drop part of the side of the spherical shield, allowing the others to crawl out. Now it was just him inside, holding up the last three-quarters of the shield. He was crouched down, one foot planted flat. His arms were up, palms touching the ceiling. An iridescent glow emanated from them. All that had stood between those inside and death. "We're waiting on you, pretty boy."

"I…don't know that I can," he whispered.

"What?" Sigrun demanded. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't think I can move," he said, his voice tiny and helpless. "Even if I can, once I drop the shield, how do we know the whole tunnel will stay up?"

Sigrun gritted her teeth. Truth was, she hadn't thought about that. Would the keystones hold if this little pocket collapsed? Her dwarven instincts said that most of the tunnel would hold, yes. Only the last portion would be affected by the pocket filling up. Of course, that last portion was where they were all standing.

She glanced behind her; no one else had heard their conversation. They were too busy hugging and exchanging accounts of what had happened.

All at once, the elephants behind them started shifting around. They shuffled their feet in the tiny space, their agitation clear and terrifying.

"Anders," Sigrun hissed sternly, "I don't care what you _think_. Just do it."

He laughed weakly. "And risk burying all of you in here, after everything we've been through to get the Commander? In your dreams, little lady."

"Anders?" Leliana called from behind Sigrun's shoulder. "We really need to get moving, sweetheart."

The mage let out a choked little noise, and Sigrun spun around. "Everybody start moving, now. At the very least, somebody get outside and see what in the bloody Stone is going on with the elephants." They all stared at her. "Go! You want to be crushed if they so much as lean?"

"Out of the way, you overgrown bronto pups," grunted Oghren as he started down the tunnel. "Gotta go tell your mama you've been naughty." He cackled wildly, his voice echoing off the ceiling.

"But I-" Leliana began.

"Go breathe some air, Leliana," Sigrun interrupted. She had to get the former Chantry sister out of there; she had to get them all out of there. "See some light. I promise, your lovesick mage is right behind you."

The bard smiled tiredly, and nodded. She followed Oghren's path, gingerly moving past the agitated elephants. Zevran gave her a look, and she stared him down. The elf broke first, and took Aideen's hand and led her away.

"You too, Your Majesty," the ex-legionnaire said.

He narrowed his eyes; the lantern's light creating odd shadows across his face. "Sure, right. That will be the day."

"I mean it," she said, the notion that she was ordering about the King of Ferelden completely forgotten. "Whatever's making the elephants ignore us, you know it's not good. Get out there and see what's going on."

His face spasmed in a wave of pain. "Damn you," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked with a forced laugh. "Getting you to go see your wife?" She waved him off dismissively, playing innocent for all she was worth. "Scram, we're right behind you. The wimpy mage just needs a second to remember how to use his legs."

The King got angrily to his feet, towering over her. Oh dear, this hadn't worked at all. Every second he stood there was a second wasted. "I'm leaving the lantern," he bit out. "Are you sure you-?"

"Everything's _fine_."

"I don't believe you," he retorted, his voice practically a growl. "Something's gone wrong, and you won't let me-"

"Go, Alistair," she snapped, the name slipping from her lips before she could realize it. Anders let out a wheezing laugh, while the King just stared at her for a second in shock. Sigrun giggled, embarrassed. "You need to go tell your wife she just accomplished her goal."

The Commander's voice, raised in a desperate shout, drifted down the tunnel.

The King turned in a panic, heading down the corridor.

She turned back to Anders, determination on her face. "Now, about this whole-"

"Get out, Sigrun," he said tightly. "Now."

"Not leaving you behind."

* * *

The cats were padding forward, foggy eyes no less able to see them all, to want their blood. Nathaniel gulped. For the first time, he wasn't jealous of the Commander's ranger abilities. He did _not_ need to see what was going on behind those eyes, to feel what they were feeling.

They were closing in on them from all sides, as if they were working as a unit. He suddenly felt naked in his leather armor. He might as well be for all the good it would do him against those teeth coming for his throat.

He'd drawn an arrow, and was trying to aim for the one Shale was after. But every time he got a good lock on it, and was about to let fly, it would dart away. The golem was many things, but swift it was definitely not.

"You want to give me a hand, instead of that walking mass of gravel?" Isabela hissed.

Nathaniel spun around to see not one, but two leopards had approached the pirate, and were on the verge of corralling her between them. It was simply impossible for her to keep her eyes on both.

With as little hesitation as he could manage, the Warden released the arrow. It struck one of the cats in the side. It screamed in pain, rolling over, trying to dislodge whatever was hurting it. The shaft snapped off, and the creature regained its feet. It turned to glare at Nathaniel with fury, blood trickling down its side in a steady stream.

Isabela used its distraction, stabbing downward into the wounded leopard's back. She struck home, bowing the cat's spine with the force of her blades. It screamed again as it crumbled. But in doing so, the duelist left her own back open to the other leopard that was now behind her.

Nathaniel shouted her name as he drew another arrow. One of the elephants trumpeted with fury, rushing forward with its ears out and its head low. But it wouldn't be able to intercept the cat in time.

The arrow shot from his bow, and he begged the Maker that this one would fly true. He ran toward her, drawing his own blades. From behind him, he heard Liam give a shout of surprise and Aednat scream in rage, her voice sounding eerily like those of the leopards. The spine-jarring sounds of claws screeching on metal had him gritting his teeth.

His arrow struck the leopard's shoulder, spinning it slightly off course. But it still landed on top of the pirate. She went down with a grunt, and dropped her daggers, lacing her hands behind her neck to protect her spine.

The elephant reached out with its trunk, snaking around the back of the leopard's legs, but not before its claws slashed at the pirate Queen's hands and its jaws made a grab for the back of her neck. She screamed as a bright burst of blood colored the air.

What felt like a clap of thunder made solid slammed into Nathaniel's shoulder, bowling him to the ground and knocking the breath from his lungs. The weight pressing against his back was incredible, and the snarl that filled his ear froze his blood. He scrambled to reverse the grip on his daggers, to be able to stab backwards. His face was shoved into the dirt by a swipe of a paw that felt like a sledgehammer.

His ears rang with the force of it, and he felt blood dripping through his hair. He thought he could vaguely hear the Commander scream, but he wasn't sure. Perhaps she'd sent an elephant, but he didn't think it would get to him in time. The stinking breath of the tiger tangled in his blood-soaked hair and up into his nose. He coughed, trying to get enough air to breathe, trying to get enough strength to throw the cat off his back.

A voice broke over the chaos, and Nathaniel managed to hear that just fine. "_Ebost issala!"_

* * *

"Just move your feet, Anders," Sigrun said, putting as much command into her words as possible. "I'm sure being a martyr would only increase your appeal with the ladies, but it will be pretty hard to capitalize on that when you're dead. So let's go."

"Get out, Sigrun," he repeated, his head hanging low. "I don't know how much longer I can hold it."

"All the more reason for you to _move_," she countered. "Everyone's gone, they're safe. It's just you, me, and the elephants."

"_You're_ not safe," he disagreed. "I can't do anything about the elephants if they won't leave, but you…"

"And what exactly would you like me to tell Leliana when I come sauntering out there without you?" the dwarf pointed out. "Seriously, just move your stupid, mage-y feet!"

"Do you know what this is like?" he asked, his voice hollow. "It's like _I'm_ holding up this entire fortress. It's trying to crush me. I literally can't move, it's too much weight. I was getting this feeling earlier, before you came, but there wasn't much point in dwelling on it at the time. Well, now it's time. So, please," he whispered, "go."

Sigrun's blood pounded in her temples. Not like this. She wasn't letting Anders die like this. If he wouldn't move on his own, what was she supposed to do? If she left, she was afraid he'd let the shield go. If she screamed down the tunnel, would the King hear her? If she crawled in there and tried to push him out… No, she was afraid of what he would do. He could cast her out with magic. He could seal the shield back up right now if he wanted; he wouldn't have to hear her nagging then. But if that hadn't occurred to him, she wasn't about to point it out.

She wasn't going to let him die.

She stood up, and turned to the anxious, wide-eyed elephant behind her. In the flickering light, she could see its eyes were distant, but they still moved, like they were seeing something. Like it was dreaming with its eyes open.

With the back of her mind screaming at her for the idiocy of this plan, she grabbed its trunk. She shook it, wiggling the giant muscular appendage. "Please, please help him," she begged. "Do something."

* * *

Lorelai screamed, pushing Jacob forward with her Call. Normally, holding on to the elephants, and manipulating a separate Call for her mabari would have exceeded the limits of her abilities. But with her son's power, glowing beneath her ribs like a furnace, she had just enough.

She'd never done this before, never connected with Jacob like this. There had never been a need. Now, tapped into the mind of her faithful war dog, she felt dazzled, like she was staring at the sun. The purity of his love for her brought tears to her eyes.

He darted through the elephants' legs like a bolt of lightning, barreling towards Nathaniel in a charge that had given almost every enemy they'd ever faced cause to backpedal. He was silent, his head tucked down and his ears laid back, as he ate up the distance separating him from the archer.

Jacob would not make it in time.

Lorelai leaned against the young elephant beside her, clutching its back to keep from losing her feet as despair tried to cripple her. Through the creatures blocking her she could just barely see Nathaniel's body, the tiger lowering its head to search for his spine.

"_Ebost issala!"_

A flashing blade sliced down from an impossible height and nearly cut the tiger in half. Blood and entrails exploded as a thick fist scruffed the big cat and hauled it off Nathaniel. Jacob skidded to a halt, falling to his side with the effort to stop his charge.

Lorelai leaned back against the ruins and closed her eyes. She didn't need to see; Jacob's eyes showed her everything. Not that she even needed that. Only a fool would mistake that battle cry.

"Sten," she whispered, a tiny smile of relief curving her lips.

Through the hound's eyes, she watched the Qunari acknowledge the dog with a nod before turning to deliver more devastation. Without a moment's hesitation, he dispatched two more of the cats, _Asala's_ edge cleaving through the bodies like soft cheese.

Bending down, he gathered Isabela into his arms and-

Lorelai felt her sight and her breath ripped away as one of the elephants tugged on their connection with enough force to nearly choke her. When she could see again, it was in the darkness of the tunnel, and she was looking down from an enormous height into Sigrun's desperate face. The dwarf pointed into a hole in the rocks, gesturing emphatically.

Dear Andraste, what had been going on in the tunnel this whole time? In the chaos and fear, she hadn't realized she'd stripped the elephants of the autonomy she'd given them to obey Sigrun. She gave it back swiftly.

Her perspective tilted crazily as the elephant bent its head to see where the Warden was pointing. Through its eyes, she saw a battered, dusty, defeated Anders. The mage turned his head and looked at the animal. The resignation in his face told Lorelai everything she needed to know.

_[Get him out!] _

* * *

Sigrun could've wept as the elephant _finally_ showed signs of life. It blinked at her, then looked where she was pointing. There was a mere second of hesitation, then it threaded its into trunk into the hole.

"Hey, what the-? No!" Anders exclaimed.

But the elephant wasn't listening. With a delicate power Sigrun had never seen before, it pulled Anders out of the hole. It happened so fast, and yet the mage didn't even bump his head on the opening.

The elephant plopped him on the ground. Anders stared at his hands in horror, the shimmering that had been the shield completely gone.

"Carry him," she told the elephant. Sure, the tunnel hadn't collapsed yet. The pocket was even still holding. But there was something in the air, she could feel it. The stone above her head seemed suddenly oppressive. Anders had been right, to a point. The loss of the shield was causing things to shift. They weren't dead yet, but if they stayed here much longer… That would change.

"Outside, now," Sigrun said, praying the elephant was still listening.

The elephant trumpeted, and in the confines of the tunnel, Sigrun could only imagine that her ears were gushing blood afterwards. The ones in front of it turned swiftly, and began shuffle-stepping their way quickly out. With a scoop, it grabbed Anders around the waist. Twisting its trunk, it forced the mage to sit in the crook, like a swing.

"Oh, well isn't _this_ dignified," he grumbled, though he clung to the animal's muscular nose with rigid fingers.

Sigrun couldn't help but laugh, even as they made a mad dash for the safety of the open sky.

* * *

Blood and meatier things gushed over Nathaniel's back, and then the tiger's awful weight was removed. He dragged a frantic breath in, and then another, searching for the motor skills to roll over and find out what benevolent spirit had saved him. It was eluding him for the time being, and as more of his blood dripped from his hair to land with dry _plops_ onto the dusty ground, the archer thought that maybe just concentrating on breathing was a grand idea.

The sounds of slaughter were all around him. But there could be no mistaking the noises for his companions' voices. The big cats were dying. He tried to turn his head, to at least attempt to see what was going on, but his blood-soaked hair blocked either side of his vision.

The owners of the chattering voices finally arrived, their calls resonating painfully with the throbbing in his scalp.

"_Vashedan_," the new voice said in a tone of disgust. "_Kadan_, would you fight along side me, so we may end this annoyance quickly?"

"It would be my pleasure," answered the golem.

Chattering turned quickly to yelps of agony, most of which were silenced quickly. The golem chuckled as what sounded like its foot slammed into the ground with a nauseatingly liquid sound.

And then all was quiet.

At least until the elephants came pouring out of the tunnel. Then the world filled with short, agitated trumpets and raised, alarmed human voices. It all mushed together, so Nathaniel couldn't pick out anyone's words. Partly because of all the racket, but partly also because of his muddled head, he was sure.

Boots appeared near his face. "You still with us, Howe?" grumbled Oghren's unmistakable voice.

Before he could gather the breath to answer, a gentle voice scolded, "Do not move him, Oghren."

"I wasn't gonna touch him," the dwarf said defensively. "Why you always gotta assume the worst of me, woman?"

"I find it is the easiest way to prepare myself," she answered.

The boots retreated, and a robe of rich scarlet appeared as its owner knelt near his head. "Be at peace, Warden Howe," she said, as her hands pressed against head.

He nearly groaned as healing magic poured over him like water. The throbbing receded, leaving the cacophony of human and animal noise a bit easier to decipher, and his brain much less foggy. "Isabela," he gasped out, bracing his hands against the ground and trying to shove himself to his feet.

The mage held him down easily, her grip on his head keeping him prone on the ground. "I have seen to her already, young man. She lives, though I think she has had quite enough. Her vocabulary is," she paused, "colorful."

Nathaniel laughed weakly into the dust. "Good."

The mage removed her hands. "Now, that should fix you right up-"

Sounds of tearing rock and earth-bound thunder cut her off. "There it goes!" someone shouted, before everything was drowned out by the sound of the tunnel succumbing to gravity.

Nathaniel jerked his head up in time to watch the wall of dust roll over him. He winced, hiding his eyes. When he looked again, it had mostly dissipated. So he could very clearly see a three-ponytailed dwarf running towards him.

Oh, thank the Maker. Bracing himself again, he raised up to a sitting position. He wanted to look at her face, and reassure himself that she was all right.

"Nathaniel!" Sigrun cried out as she reached him, falling to her knees. With shaking hands, she reached up and touched the bloody half of his head.

"I'm all right," he said with a smile. "Just a little messy."

Sigrun's lip quivered, and she buried herself against his chest with a force that nearly knocked him backwards, and the strength of her arms around him made it almost impossible to breathe.

Returning her embrace, he laid a kiss on her dusty hair. He turned, resting his cheek against her head and looking at the mage next to him. "Thank you," he said.

She smiled, her elderly face losing ten years. Bowing her white-haired head, she answered, "You are welcome, Warden Howe. Now, I should see to the others." Gathering her robes, she got to her feet and headed over to Liam and Aednat. The elf was sitting, trying to blink away the blood in her eyes. It wasn't worked very well, considering half her face had four deep claws marks running down it from her hairline to her chin. It made a garish mask of red that chilled Nathaniel to the bone. The cat's strike had missed her eye by a hair's breath.

"'M all right," she insisted, her voice a bit slurred, as the mage approached.

"Shut your mouth," Liam and Aideen said at the same time, one on either side of the blonde, each holding a hand. They looked at each other over her head in surprise. Zevran stood nearby, his fists clenched as he stared at Aednat's wounded face, and then at Liam's presence.

The elephants had gathered toward the jungle, and they were helpfully pulling all the carcasses together into a morbid pile. They were clearly not enjoying it, as they released the bodies quickly and wiped their trunks on the ground and on nearby trees in disgust.

"Stand up," the Commander demanded. She was talking to Anders, who was sitting in a seat made of an elephant's trunk, the only elephant not with the rest, and looking like death warmed over.

"You think I'd be sitting here if I could?" he asked, looking up at her with a bit of fear in his eyes.

The King was slightly behind her, looking confused. "Love, let's give Anders-"

"Stand him up," she interrupted, directing her orders to the elephant. Without hesitation, it shifted its trunk around. Anders was forced to put his feet on the ground, and then the elephant moved its trunk again, pushing the mage in the lower back. It wasn't pretty, and Anders clearly wasn't standing on his own, but he was up.

Leliana, standing nearby, took a few steps forward. "This is a bit much, my friend. Whatever you need to say can wait-"

The Commander slapped Anders. Hard.

Everyone gasped as the mage staggered. The elephant grabbed him about the waist with its trunk, making sure he didn't fall over.

"Lorelai!" Leliana shouted, stepping up to come between them.

"No!" Sigrun called from beneath Nathaniel's chin. Her shout stopped the bard, who glared furiously in her direction. "He deserves it," the dwarf said tightly.

Before the archer could puzzle out what that meant, the Commander stepped forward. The King grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back. "You know exactly what that was for," she said into the mage's face hotly.

Anders avoided her eyes, loose blond hair hanging down to hide his face.

"You great, stupid idiot!" she continued, her voice filling with tears. "After all of this, you thought _that_ was your only option? After everything everyone has accomplished, _you _have accomplished, you thought we couldn't find a way-" she sobbed to a stop, and the tears started to fall. She shrugged off the King's hold, who seemed too stunned to fight it. Grabbing the front of the mage's robes, she forced him to look at her with a shake. "You would've broken my _heart_, you stupid mage."

"I'm sorry," he said, in a voice almost too quiet to hear. "And thanks, for, you know-"

She nodded to cut him off, then crushed him against her in a desperate hug. The mage responded with as much strength as he could muster. It occurred to Nathaniel in that moment that, aside from Oghren (who was not the touchy-feely type), Anders was the last to see the Commander. Aideen, too…but Aideen was not one of her Wardens.

The Commander was sobbing now. The elephant, trunk still stuck between her and Anders, nudged her backwards. It separated them gently, pushing her towards the King. He gave the creature a grateful look, and took the Commander into his arms. She kept crying as he gathered her up, lifting her off her feet and cradling her against his armored chest.

The elephant twisted its trunk, turning it into a makeshift chair again before Anders fell over. He collapsed into it, leaning wanly against the upper part of its trunk. Tear tracks marked the only clean parts of his face.

Leliana crouched down in front of him, holding his hands. "You _are_ going to tell me what she means. Later."

He nodded miserably.

Oghren chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "Somebody hit him again! That sight did my heart a world of good!"

"If my _kadan_ has indeed adopted corporal punishment as a means of controlling those below her, I should be very proud of her," the Qunari said, looking up from cleaning his sword.

Nathaniel had to consciously keep his jaw from falling open. A Qunari, _the _Qunari. Sten of the Beresaad. A pretty large thing to miss, but all things considered, he felt like he could be allowed the oversight. The means of their salvation came together finally.

"Doubtful," the golem commented from where it stood near to the Qunari. "Though one can only hope."

"Indeed," agreed Sten, reaching down absently to pet Jacob's head. The dog lay sprawled near his feet, rubbing his face enthusiastically over the Qunari's boots.

"How did you get here?" the King asked, moving slightly closer, still carrying the weeping Commander. "Not that I'm not _hugely_ grateful… But Isabela was here with us-"

"Which I'll never make the mistake of doing again!" spat the pirate from where she was sitting, covered in blood but seemingly all right.

"Her opinion of that, aside," the King continued. "How did you get here?"

Sten looked up, giving the Warden a withering look. "My people live on islands, I think you're aware. I do not need some foul-mouthed, scantily clad _woman_ to get me where I need to go on the sea."

"And he stopped by Denerim, just in case," the white-haired mage said, "and that is where I joined him." She raised an eyebrow as she turned her attention to the golem. "And Shale, dear. I do hope you took my advice, and managed not to kill anyone on your way here."

"Yes, Elder Mage," the golem said sullenly. Nathaniel half expected it to cross its arms and kick a stone.

"I am…proud of you, Sten," Leliana said, glancing at the red-robed mage. "I know mages make you uncomfortable. You traveled a long way with one in such close proximity."

"He even let me start knitting him a cloak," the mage added with a wink.

"Oooh," Leliana cooed appreciatively. "What color?"

"_Parshaara_!" Sten snapped. "I have not missed all your ceaseless babbling!" His face softened then, just a bit. "There is nothing I would not do for my _kadan_ when she calls for me, even court destruction."

Everyone fell silent, the only noise left was the Commander, whose sobs had quieted to breathless whimpers. The white-haired mage approached the King. "Let me see her, Alistair."

But the King shook his head, his arms tightening. "Nothing personal, Wynne," he said gruffly, "just right now, I can't..."

Ah, of course that's who she was. He'd blame his failure to make that leap of logic on his head injury, as well.

"I simply want to see if she is hurt," Wynne said gently.

"She's not," Nathaniel supplied, and then gulped as he felt the attention of fourteen sets of eyes suddenly staring at him. "I think she's just-"

"-had enough. Just like I've bloody had enough!" interrupted Isabela. She got to her feet shakily. "I don't care if you want to come with me or not, but my boat is leaving as fast as I can get on it. So you either leave this Maker-damned jungle with me _now_, or you can bloody well stay here for all I care!"

"You heard the Captain," Zevran said. He helped Aideen to her feet, but when he turned to get Aednat, Liam had already done the job for him. The assassin looked like he wanted to say something, but Aednat touched his arm. He looked at her, then swallowed. "Let us not try our dear pirate Queen's patience," he said, rallying. "Off we go then."


	31. Take Off the Armor

**So, in all fairness, I just wanted to let everyone know that I've run out of official plot. The rest of this story is going to be tying up loose ends and adorable fluff. Just kind of going with the flow. Not that I envision any of you having a problem with that, but I thought it only fair to say it up front :)  
**

**Hope you all had great holidays! Thanks to everyone who favorited/reviewed/alerted.  
**

**As always, thanks to JacksAreWild for being my editing buddy.  
**

* * *

_Lorelai looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, and blinked a few times. Raising her head, she blinked some more at the sight of Morrigan's garden. She didn't remember falling asleep. It seemed like a pretty inopportune time to do something like that. The last thing she remembered was crying._

_ "You're not sleeping."_

_ Lorelai turned to watch the witch walk down the path, Brighid in tow. "Then how am I here?"_

_ Morrigan gave an elegant shrug. "As I was watching your little hysteric fit, you simply materialized. Slowly, like you were taking form out of mist." She tilted her head to the side, her yellow eyes narrowed. "I suspect your emotional and physical exhaustion brought you here."_

_ The archer stood up, a bit panicked. "Well, what is my body doing…back there, then? If I'm not sleeping? Andraste's boots, what do the others think is going on?"_

_ "Be calm," Morrigan scolded. "Come see for yourself." She gestured to a corner of the clearing that held a short wall of white stone._

_ Crossing to it quickly, Lorelai saw the wall was a rim around a pool. In its pale yellow waters, she could see…everything. She could see all her friends, making their way through the jungle, a long line of people winding their way through the vegetation. She saw it all as if she were a bird in the trees, watching them from above._

_ The elephants pulled up the rear of the procession. Andraste only knew why. If she were here, like this, with her consciousness, she certainly had no hold over them. They followed of their own accord._

_ Best not tell Isabela that. Ever._

_ Eyes widening, she leaned closer to the pool. There was Alistair, still holding her in his arms. It was the strangest sensation, seeing herself as if she were someone else. Looking at her own body like a stranger would. She squinted; she couldn't see her face, not from this angle. Just the top of Alistair's head; the gleaming metal of his armor. The parts that weren't still liberally caked in blood, of course. And her own head, tucked down and against his shoulder, and her legs, draped over the crook of his arm._

_ As if reading her mind, the image in the pool spun and zoomed in. Now, it was like she was walking backwards in front of Alistair. She could see all of herself, from her blood-soaked frock to her disheveled hair. _

_ "I look terrible," she commented, partly in shock and partly in detached amazement._

_ Morrigan laughed lightly. "This experience hasn't been kind to you, no. But I'm sure you'll be back to your radiant self in no time."_

_ Lorelai ignored the compliment, peering closer. The pool obediently zoomed in, allowing her to stare right into her own face. She almost recoiled at her listless eyes. They stared, moving around every now and then, but for the most part looking forward. But it was abundantly clear her eyes saw nothing of what they looked at._

_ "It's like I'm," she struggled to find the words, "not there." She turned to Morrigan, desperate for answers. "Why would I do that? _How_ am I doing it?"_

_ The mage's lips curled up in an ugly sneer of impatience. "Honestly, Lorelai. I know it would absolutely _kill_ your pride to admit this, but this ordeal has very nearly broken you. And not surprisingly! There are lesser women who would've gone mad months ago. Now, we are all very aware of and very impressed with how strong you are, but you cannot beat this into submission with sheer stubbornness!" She pointed at the pool. "So please, do stop acting like you have spontaneously become a mage!"_

_ Lorelai didn't know what to say to that. Broken her? Nonsense. She'd gotten upset after Anders, had her crying fit before she'd made it to Isabela's ship, but broken? She was fine. Why wouldn't she be? She was rescued, everyone was alive. She was fine. "I'm assuming there's a point in there somewhere?"_

_ Morrigan rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. "You are having a very normal, very human reaction to trauma. _You_ are not doing anything. Your mind has decided that your life is a bit too exciting for it at the moment, so it is going to leave and not deal with it."_

_ "There's no_ time_ for that," she blurted out. "Look at Alistair's face, he looks like he might burn the entire jungle to the ground."_

_ "Or start blubbering like a baby," the witch taunted._

_ Lorelai pointed a finger at her companion. "Hey, watch how you talk about my husband."_

_ "'Tis true!" Morrigan retorted. "Look at him! Besides, I have never watched my tongue about that dolt, and I will not start now. Husband or no."_

_ The archer waved her hands in dismissal. "You're right. I won't win that fight. Never won it before, shouldn't be surprised I'm not winning it now. Anyway," she flailed her hands around, "can't you wake me up? Make it stop?"_

_ "Are you really this thick?" the other woman asked, incredulous. "Marriage has dampened your intellect, to be sure." Morrigan grabbed her arm, digging her pale fingers in hard enough to make the ranger flinch. "You cannot bull through this with your stubbornness, or charm it with your silver tongue. You have been _damaged_, Lorelai. The same way your parents' deaths marked you, this tribulation has marked you. You will have nightmares about this until you start having _other_ nightmares." _

_ Morrigan squeezed harder, and it was all Lorelai could do to not squirm. "But you will beat this. You will not let it break you altogether. Damage can be overcome, and you will overcome it." She shook her arm. "But you must let it in. You must let every horror flow through you, because now you have the luxury to do so. Do not shut them out, push them away, and treat them like they never happened."_

_ "I wouldn't have," Lorelai snapped._

_ "Please!" Morrigan snorted. "Do not pretend to lie to me! This is not the Blight any longer, and no one needs anyone to bravely lead them into battle. And even if they did, let someone else do it for a change! You have to let yourself heal, and you have to let _them_ help you." She finally released her arm with a last shake._

_ Lorelai rubbed at her arm, and absently wondered if she'd have a bruise on her body. That would take some explaining. "I don't know how," she said after a few minutes of silence._

_ Morrigan sighed, and looked skyward. "I cannot believe I am going to say this." She looked back at the Warden. "Look into the eyes of the fool you married. He's never wanted anything else but to take your burdens away, to protect you. You so very rarely let him do it. Let him, and it will be a good start."_

_ She stared at the raven-haired woman for a minute, before smirking. "You had better pray to whoever it is that you pray to that I don't tell _anyone_ that you just had a sentimental, borderline romantic moment."_

_ The mage laughed in a loud burst. "As if anyone would believe you've been speaking to me in your dreams, let alone what I said!" But her eyes were wary._

_ That was good enough for Lorelai. She laughed back, but she couldn't ignore Morrigan's words. She'd never done that before, let go like that. Even in her most vulnerable moments with Alistair, she had never pushed the burden all at his feet. Emotionally, at least. He'd clearly had to do a bit of legwork these past months._

_ She wasn't sure she could do it. She wasn't even sure she believed that things were as dire as Morrigan claimed. There was only one thing to do, then: look into his eyes, and give it a go. Her mind had apparently had enough of her way of handling things. Maybe it would take charge in this, too._

_ Brighid peeked out from behind Morrigan's skirts, and Lorelai's face lit up, emotional dilemmas forgotten. "Just the person I wanted to see," she said, bending down to be eye-level with the child._

_ She didn't answer, but bit her lip and held up a piece of Morrigan's skirt until just her painfully amber eyes were showing. She didn't duck away, though._

_ "Thank you, for sending me to the battlements," Lorelai said. "I would have lost something…precious if you hadn't done that."_

_ After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the little girl nodded. "You're welcome."_

_ "Don't forget to tell her about the other one," Morrigan urged gently. "You've got her gratitude, don't let up now."_

_ Hiding her confusion, Lorelai smiled at the god-child. "She's right. What other one?"_

_ "The elf," Brighid said. "The elf above the walls."_

_ "I'm sorry, I don't know what that means."_

_ "When your daring rescue party split up, the elves obviously intended to stay together," Morrigan explained. "What with the pair of them tripping over their tongues over the assassin," she added with a grimace. "But, at the last second, the blonde one changed her mind, going with Alistair instead."_

_ The realization dawned on Lorelai finally, how odd it was that Aednat and Aideen split up. "You did that? You changed her mind? Why?"_

_ Morrigan made a face. "Your pet mage, and _not_ the old bat, ingenious and strong though he is, would not have managed to hold that shield for that long if there had been more people in it."_

_ The archer stared at her. "What?"_

_ "If your 'twins' had been in there, if the count within the shield had been six instead of five," she shrugged, "your mind would have quite a lot more to try to hide from, I believe."_

_ Lorelai swallowed. It was a miracle any of them were going home at all. They had to get to Denerim immediately, before any other disasters could crop up. "I see," she said softly. "Well, thank you for all their lives, as well."_

_ Brighid nodded, a little bolder. She smiled, and reached out for Lorelai's hand. When their palms touched, her son twisted around beneath her ribs, as if looking for the source of the power pulsing down her arm. Brighid's smile widened. "He will be my friend. I cannot wait to have a friend."_

_ Morrigan let out a surprised exhale, and Lorelai's stomach dropped down to her toes. But she would not pull her hand away from the child. Not when she had saved the lives of so many strangers. "And he will be glad to have you as a friend, I'm sure."_

_ The girl clapped her hands in delight, and darted off, disappearing into the garden's flowers._

_ Lorelai stood slowly, and stared at Morrigan. "What does she mean?"_

_ "I have no idea," the witch answered. "I suspect we will never know."_

_ "Or at least _I'll_ never know," Lorelai snorted._

_ "Don't be morbid," the other woman scolded. "If you think I'm letting you traipse off to honorably commit suicide without a fight, you are greatly mistaken."_

_ Lorelai blinked. "Oh?"_

_ "I make no promises, but I also do not give up." She raised an eyebrow. "You're the only one who will speak with me. I cannot just let you go be swallowed by darkspawn."_

_ "No one lives forever, Morrigan," Lorelai said gently. "Well, most of us," she added with a pointed look._

_ The mage sniffed. "That is neither here nor there."_

_ "Thank you, for everything," the archer said, changing the subject. "None of this could've happened without you."_

_ "I know." Morrigan held out her hand. "Come. I'll give you a tour, seeing as how you might be here for a while."_

_ "A tour?" Lorelai echoed. "But isn't this just some dreamscape where you meet me?"_

_ Morrigan smiled and wiggled her fingers. "Come along."_

* * *

"Love?"

Alistair nearly dropped his wife in surprise at the small voice that came from below his chin. He gracelessly sat down on the beach, so he could turn her in his lap and see her face. His blood thudded in his temples as the knot in his chest loosened at the sight of _her_ back in her eyes. "Hey," he said with a relieved smile, "there she is."

He could feel those of their companions standing nearby turn at his voice, and at the clanking of his armor, no doubt. But they didn't approach, leaving them in relative privacy. Thank the Maker for sensible people.

She gave him back a weak smile, a shadow of her normal grin. But it was a smile; he'd take whatever he could get. "I hope you weren't too worried," she bit her lip, "while I, um…"

He smoothed her hair gently. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried, at all," he admitted. "But you're all right, that's what matters."

Her lip quivered a little bit, and her eyes filled with tears. "Is Anders all right?"

His heart felt like breaking at her earnest question. "Yes, he's fine. He just needs to rest."

She nodded, and the tears spilled out to dash down her face.

"Oh, love," he whispered. "It's all over. Everyone's safe, and we're going home. Zevran hasn't even killed Liam yet, imagine that."

She blinked at his joke for a second, before laughing weakly. "Then we _are_ doing good."

"Exactly," he agreed.

She sobered too quickly for his taste. "Is there time for me to…get cleaned up? I want to go but," she took a shaking breath, "I want his blood off me."

Alistair bit his tongue, desperate to know who she was talking about. But he didn't want to push her. Her catatonic state had frankly terrified him, even though Wynne had assured him she was fine. He didn't want to upset her again, not even a little bit. "I'm sure we can make time for that." Twisting his head around, he located the figure he wanted. "Leliana," he called, causing the bard's head to whip around sharply. He waved her over, and she trotted in close.

"Well, hello sunshine," the Orlesian said to Lorelai with a warm smile. "What can I do for you love birds?"

"We'd like to get cleaned up," he said. "Didn't we pass a little pond on the way out? I wasn't exactly paying attention…"

"Yes, we did," she agreed. "It's just in there. I'll get clothes for the both of you, since you really do need to take that armor off, Alistair, honestly. How you can stand it in this heat is beyond me. And I'll get a little group together, just to make sure you're safe. How about Sigrun, Shale, and Wynne, hmm?"

"I think I'll just put my armor back on after," Alistair said, not liking the idea of not being ready to protect Lorelai in an instant.

"No," his wife said, her eyes a little bit wide. "No, I'd like it off."

"Lorelai," he responded, "I just don't want to be caught-"

"We have enough guards," she interrupted. "I want to feel _you_," she reached up, placing a trembling hand against his breastplate, "not this." Her hand clenched, and her fingers slid against the metal and old blood. "All I've felt of you since I've seen you is your face. I need more."

"All right," he answered quickly. "All right, you've got it. All of me, it's yours. Always has been."

"I'll just go get your things," Leliana said, and started off across the sand to their pile of supplies.

"Can you walk?" Alistair asked her, taking her hands gently. "It's not far, if you want-"

"Carry me."

He blinked. Then blinked some more. He was pretty sure that Lorelai had never opted to be carried in the history of their lives. Except maybe the night they were married, and that certainly didn't count. Over the threshold and all that.

He was about to ask her if she was all right, then stopped himself. _That_ might be the stupidest question he could ask in his whole life. Of course she wasn't all right. Let's see…kidnapped for months, pregnant, drugged, thought her beloved mabari was dead, connecting with the elephants (which from what she'd briefly mentioned was unlike any other animal ever), terror that she'd killed their friends, watching the killing of those animals, and Anders attempting to martyr himself in the tunnel. Worked that last bit out all on his own.

And those were just the things he knew about. He still had no clue whose blood was all over her, how she'd gotten out of her cell, or what had happened to Grady.

And those were just the things _he knew_ he didn't know.

Funny. In his head, he'd thought about holding her in his arms until they got to Denerim. It looked like that might actually happen.

"Yeah, I'll carry you, love."

* * *

That was much better.

The clean dress flowed around Lorelai's body loosely in the warm, ocean breeze. She'd let Sigrun braid her hair into two plaits. The snugness of them against her scalp felt nice. It was an Orlesian style, something Leliana had taught the ex-legionnaire on the road, where the braids started at the crown of her head rather than the nape of her neck. Sigrun had been very proud of the result.

She wiggled her toes into the sand. Who needed shoes? As soon as this was done, she'd have Alistair pick her up again.

The bath in the pond had been lovely, especially with Alistair with her. She was feeling a bit too overwhelmed to have done anything about the fact that the pair of them had been naked in the water. Didn't mean staring at his bare chest and broad shoulders hadn't been nice.

What had been even nicer was when he kneeled down in the water and placed a gentle kiss on her swollen stomach.

Everyone was waiting on her. It was time to get it over with.

Lorelai stepped forward, and hugged the matriarch's trunk tightly. The stiff hairs poked against her arms as she dug her fingers into the wrinkled skin. Tears squeezed out from beneath her closed lids. The elephant wrapped her trunk around her waist gently, hugging back. "Thank you," she said, then laughed a little. "If I could take you all back to Denerim with me, I would."

The elephant rumbled, and Lorelai felt the vibrations permeate her entire body.

At first, she couldn't make herself pull away. But everyone was waiting. No one would interrupt, but she couldn't stand here forever. Reluctantly, she let go and stepped back. The matriarch reached out her trunk and touched Lorelai's hand.

Oh, now she was really going to start crying.

With a wave, she turned away, unable to look at them anymore. She approached Alistair, who wiped her tears away. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and started down the beach to the row boats, the rest of their group following behind.

She rested her head against his shoulder. Yes, this was much better with no armor. They all climbed aboard the row boats, and they were off, headed into the deeper waters to the ships.

As they slid through the water, Lorelai tried to sit still. She felt like her insides, from her mind to her stomach, were all a precarious house of cards…and the cards were made of glass. One wrong move and the whole thing would shatter. "Shatter" could be anything from a hysteric fit to another little "vacation" to Morrigan's garden. As it was, she could look at damn near anything and start crying.

If she talked to Morrigan again, she'd have to assure her there was no need to worry about her shoving all of her experiences in the farthest recesses of her mind and making a show of her strength. She couldn't do it if she tried. It was too much. How she'd held it back for so long was a testament to her stubbornness, she supposed.

It was better this way. She didn't know if, given the choice, she'd have felt this way on purpose.

The only part of her that felt solid was her son. Now that they'd released the elephants, the sense of his power had faded away to nothing. Just a resting baby, pulling her thoughts inward now that she had thoughts to spare. Wynne had examined him with gentle, pulsing magic, and the mage had promised her the boy was in perfect health. Lorelai had cried, so grateful that this mess had not affected her child. It had to be some kind of miracle.

She wondered if Morrigan had told her _everything_ she'd had hands in.

Lorelai startled as the smaller boat bumped into the side of Isabela's ship. She looked to her left, to see that Sten's boat had already made it to his larger ship. Shale had opted to go with him, and the pair would meet up with everyone in Denerim. The golem climbed out of the boat smoothly, and it bobbed up considerably at the loss of her weight.

"I wonder, do you think boats make her nervous?" Alistair asked from behind her.

"Why?" Wynne asked.

"Well, you know, because she'll sink."

"I imagine she would just walk to shore along the bottom, in that case."

There was a pause. "I guess I never thought about that…"

"Your Majesty," said the grizzly-looking pirate who'd been rowing their boat. He held a hand out to her in a gallant gesture, and motioned toward the ladder going up into the ship with the opposite, heavily tattooed arm.

She looked up the ladder, and it seemed like it disappeared into the sky.

A head stuck out over the railing, hair blowing in the wind. "Do not trouble yourself, my beautiful barbarian Queen," Zevran called. "We can just as easily pull you up with a rope swing. We tested it on Anders first, so I assure you it is safe."

"Hey," an injured voice objected.

Lorelai looked at the ladder, then back up at Zevran. With a shake of her head, she took the pirate's outstretched hand and got shakily to her feet.

"Are you sure, love?" Alistair asked.

"I'm sure," she answered, ignoring the majority of her body that felt so fragile and instead focusing on her son's warm weight. Getting a firm hold, she started up. The ship swayed on the waves, but it was a gentle motion and it didn't try to shake her off. The salt spray from the water faded gradually as she climbed, until all that was left was a saline scent in the breeze.

The deck came into view, and Zevran grabbed her hand to help her the rest of the way up. "Such a wily, unpredictable creature you are," he flirted, kissing both her hands. "How is it that I did not manage to woo you away from your husband before he married you, hmm? Surely there must have been a reason."

"Yeah, like maybe that I could snap you like a twig?" Alistair chimed, coming up the ladder right behind her.

Zevran snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. That was it."

Everyone kept talking, banter and plans and ideas. But Lorelai wasn't hearing any of it. On the other side of Isabela's ship, to the left, another ship was anchored off shore. There was nothing special about it. It looked like any other ship one would see.

Her fists clenched at her sides. She'd never seen it before; she'd never been lucid enough to remember it. She remembered the hold though, chained up in the bowels of the ship. Trapped not knowing where she was going, or how her husband and friends would find her. Adrift in the sea as surely as if she'd been thrown overboard. Trapped underneath the deck with only Grady for company. Where he'd finally told her the _reason_ for all of this. Or at least what he thought the reason was.

Fool. Stupid, honorable, chivalrous fool.

"Lorelai?" Alistair asked.

She belatedly realized she'd been staring at the other vessel with seething hatred, and that everyone had noticed and fallen silent.

"Wynne," she called.

The mage stepped up next to her. "Yes, dear?"

Lorelai pressed her lips together tightly, as tears fell down her face. Again. "Burn it."


	32. What Needs To Be Done

Zevran leaned against the railing, watching the water rush by. The stench of the burning ship had finally fallen behind them, unable to keep up with _The Siren's Call_. The world smelled pure again, and he imagined if he were back in Val Royeaux, her laughter would be musical once more. The sick feeling he'd carried with him since those black-feathered messengers had descended was gone. All was right with the world.

He turned and looked across the deck at Leliana. She sat with her back against a stack of crates, holding the hand of her battle-weary mage. He looked decent, considering all he'd been through. His head was lying against the bard's shoulder, and her red hair mingled with his blond where she rested hers on top of his.

The elf's eyes narrowed. Though the Warden Queen had been rescued, he had no illusions that his life was going back to the way it was before.

His head turned at the sound of raucous laughter and howls of derision. Aideen was standing up, arms spread, lording over the pirate she'd just beaten in what seemed to be arm wrestling. Her "twin" was clapping her on the back, shouting her praises. Aednat was no worse for wear after Wynne's healing touch. The claw marks were fearsome, but the scarring would be minimal, the mage had assured her. Aednat had brushed off her comforts, bragging about her new "badges of honor" and mocking Aideen for having none to show off when they returned to Vigil's Keep.

Aideen moved aside for someone else to compete, and she caught him watching her. She gave him a smug grin and a wink before turning away.

The elf sighed. Perhaps he should drop the pretense that he wished for his life to go back to the way it was. Perhaps leaving Denerim those five years ago had been a mistake. Yes, Leliana and he had had adventures of their own. All that seemed hollow at the moment. Surrounded by the first true friends he'd ever had, he began to wonder why they'd left in the first place.

"Mind if I have a word?"

Zevran didn't turn to acknowledge the voice. He didn't need to see who it was; the unfamiliarity of his voice was enough to identify him. "If you insist."

"Are you going to look at me while we're talking?"

Zevran resisted the urge to laugh. "Do you feel that it is absolutely necessary? I find my ears work just fine without my eyes to assist them."

The man came around in front of him then, blocking his view of Aednat, Aideen, and their pirate cohorts. His green eyes glared, and his fists were clenched as if he were already prepared for this meeting to come to blows. He had a temper, this stranger who had appeared at Lorelai's side. "Look, you don't like me, I get it. But we can be civilized."

"I find being civilized to be overrated," Zevran drawled, looking up at him. "Don't you? Being Fereldan and all."

The other man's frame tightened. "I know about you and Aednat and Aideen," he somehow managed to say between gritted teeth. "She told me."

"And?" the elf said mildly.

The stranger's eyes closed briefly. "Being a poor, simple Fereldan and all, I wouldn't dream of knowing the etiquette for this situation," he said, disdain clear. "So, I'm asking, is this a place I shouldn't be inserting myself?"

Zevran laughed mockingly. How was he supposed to let an opening like that slide? "Oh, only you can decide if you should be _inserting_ yourself there. Your preferences are not my concern. You're not quite my type, however. So sorry if you had your eyes on me. One cannot blame you, of course. I am a fine specimen, no?"

"Maker," the man snorted, appalled. He opened his eyes and glared some more. "Do you have to enjoy this quite so much? I'm trying to be diplomatic here."

"I do, actually," he answered, sneering. "I gather you are the one who left the note for Isabela, at the inn?" When the other man nodded, he continued. "Though grand, such a gesture is not enough to earn my trust. Lorelai vouches for you, and that is the only reason you are not dead. Be sure you understand that."

"Think it would be so easy?" he responded quietly, hands flexing.

"Do not make the mistake of assuming I would fight fair," Zevran hissed, stepping closer. His vision momentarily shot past the man's arm, and he saw Aednat watching the pair of them, the contest going on beside her forgotten for the moment. She caught his eye, and gave a meaningful tilt of her head.

He sighed, stepping away again. Leaning nonchalantly back against the railing, he forced his anger away and painted his face back into devil-may-care lines. "Aednat seems to find you attractive. She is free to do as she pleases; we are engaged in no sort of fixed arrangement."

The man blinked at his abrupt reduction in hostility. "Ah, all right. Thank you for your…candor." He turned to leave.

Zevran couldn't help himself, and added, "Of course, once she tires of you, as I am certain she will, I will be waiting. Breathlessly."

The stranger froze, caught between leaving and wanting to turn back to defend his manhood. But apparently cowardice won out, for he resumed the motion and started walking away.

"Should she allow you into her bed, be sure to pay special attention to the back of her neck!" Zevran called after him. "You will not regret it!"

He walked faster, but not before the assassin caught the scarlet flush that had reached even his ears. Aednat watched her new beau flee the deck. She shot a look at Zevran, and went after him.

Aideen abandoned the pirates and approached him. "Naughty," she scolded.

Making an innocent face, he held his hands up. "I have no idea what you mean, my dear. I was merely trying to be helpful."

"Mmm," she agreed, the sarcasm clear in that one, hummed syllable. "You don't own her."

He blinked. "I did not give him that impression, quite the opposite actually."

"You don't own me, either."

"Did I give you the impression that I thought that was the case? If so, I am gravely sorry."

"I'll bet you are." Her curls blew about in the wind, flying forward and gliding across his face. "I meant what I said, when we were stuck in the…bubble."

Zevran narrowed his eyes even as his heart beat a bit faster. He knew exactly what she was referring to, despite the verbal gymnastics she was putting on. He feigned ignorance. "You said many things in the 'bubble', though I never doubted the truth of any of them."

She gave him a smug grin, as if even though she was steering conversation into potentially risky waters, she still had the upper hand. He was beginning to fear that was true. "Just because our life expectancies have changed, doesn't mean I've changed my mind about that statement."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." Darting her head forward, she stole a kiss from his startled lips. Wiggling her eyebrows, Aideen strutted back to the clamor of the pirates. She didn't so much as spare him a backward glance.

Zevran could only blink at her departure. As if they were again trapped in that precious sphere of space beneath tons of crushing rock, he could hear that whispered conversation running over in his ears.

_"Think we're going to make it out of here?"_

_ "I do not like our chances, no. I do not mean to frighten you, but I feel it may be the truth."_

_ "You and your 'truth' don't frighten me, old Crow."_

_ "Oh? Then you are braver than I, my lady."_

_"What's to be frightened of? Being in your arms isn't a shabby way to spend the rest of my life."_

* * *

"Gilmore," Alistair said slowly.

Lorelai nodded carefully, her hand stroking Jacob's fur in a mechanical, repetitive motion.

"Gilmore," he repeated, his brain still not catching the name properly. It wasn't that he didn't recognize it, or know who it was. He knew. All the pieces just…weren't coming together right.

She nodded again, not giving any indication that she thought his slowness was odd. Maker bless her. He tried to give it all a voice, maybe that would help. "Gilmore, as in used-to-be-a-knight-in-your-household Gilmore," (just to be absolutely certain), "set this whole thing up, including Grady, to punish you for…living?"

His wife pressed her lips together. "That's how I gathered it, yes."

"So, Grady's, and possibly Anora's," (couldn't forget her), "involvement was all coincidental."

"Apparently."

Oh. Right. Sure. That made sense. Now he had it all down.

"Would you be all right in here alone for a little while?" he asked calmly.

Without batting an eyelash, Lorelai nodded. "Sure, love. I'll be perfectly fine." Her hand continued to move over the dog's short fur. "Take your time."

Alistair gave her a gentle peck on the cheek, stood up and walked out of the small cabin the pirates had generously provided for their use. He stood on the swaying deck for a second, just breathing. Raising his face, he closed his eyes and let the sun warm his skin.

Gilmore.

All this time.

Husband's roar of fury poured out of his throat in a deafening thunder. Lover's rage washed out his vision with explosions of black flowers in front of his eyes. That was all right; he didn't need to see at the moment. Grabbing the nearest solid thing, he tossed it blindly and was rewarded by a spectacular splintering of wood. The noise was so satisfying that he threw something else. And then something else. And then something else.

Apparently everyone was smart enough to stay away from him. He didn't hear any shouts of protest, or feel anyone try to grab him. That was nice of them. Not that he could hear anything properly for the time being. He hadn't stopped screaming in wordless, primal wrath.

His vision cleared briefly, and he saw something solid-looking in front of him. Perfect. He plowed his fist into it with brilliant right hook.

Alistair blinked his eyes rapidly and looked around. His vision had cleared completely, and Husband and Lover seemed to have exhausted their hold over him for the moment. He was sitting on the deck. Weird, he didn't remember doing that. Glancing up, he saw the main mast with a sizable dent in the wood. Glancing down, he saw his mangled right hand cradled against his chest with his left.

Oh. Right.

The pain was barely impacting him, though he wasn't sure how. Now that he'd noticed it, of course it hurt. And it had obviously been what knocked him to the deck. But it didn't hurt like it should.

Maybe because Lover's eerie howling was starting to fill the area between his ears with all the subtlety of a rapidly boiling tea kettle.

"Let me see your hand, Alistair," Wynne said, crouching next to him. She clucked her tongue in sharp disapproval as he surrendered it to her. "Honestly, dear. That was not wise, at all."

"Just heal it, please," he responded without looking at her.

"Are you all right?" asked Leliana gently from the vicinity of his shoulder.

Magic eased over his hand and wrist, taking the barely-registering pain away. "Did I break anything important?"

"Not really. And we can resupply before Denerim, if we really have to." She paused. "Alistair-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted, pushing himself to his feet with a lurch. He wiggled the fingers of his right hand experimentally. Yep, everything worked fine. A dull throbbing had set in, and it would probably still bruise, but it looked like a hand again, instead of a bad copy of one. "I'd be better if there were some people around who needed killing," he added, mostly to himself.

"Alas, we're fresh out of those," the bard answered cheerfully.

Alistair snorted in response and went back inside Lorelai's cabin. She and the dog were still in the exact same position. Looking at her sitting on the bed, propped up against as many pillows as they'd been able to wrangle together on a pirate ship, it suddenly seemed hard to breathe.

She must have heard all that. There was no way she hadn't. And yet she looked at him mildly, as if he'd just stepped out of their chambers in Denerim to have a word with one of the guards and now he was coming back to bed.

"OK," he said, still finding each breath just a little shorter on air than usual. "OK, I think I'm…good."

"It's all right if you're not," she said.

"Oh, good, because I'm pretty sure I'm lying."

She smiled at him, a real one. "Break anything important?"

He shook his head, then shrugged. "Not sure."

"Good thing we're rich. It will make reimbursing Isabela easy."

He gestured to her, then at himself, then at her again. Words. He needed words to go with all that, but they were temporarily escaping him. The only thing that kept trying to come out of his mouth was asking her if she was all right. Which he already knew the answer to. "I know you need me to be strong," was what finally came out.

"I need you to be _you_," she corrected.

"Me, huh?" He tapped the trembling fingers of one hand against his thigh. "Well, I want to be everything you need, and everything I never thought I'd get to be for you." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I say that with all the love in my heart, but you know that you're not a woman who needs a man to lean on."

She made a face like she was going to protest, and then gave a gentle sigh. "I know. But _you_ know that doesn't mean you aren't the most important thing in my life."

Laughing a little, he nodded. "I know." The trembling started in his other hand. He clenched his fists to try to control it a bit. "Look, I need to know if there's any other information of that…caliber coming. Because if there is, you should probably just tell it all to me in one big rush to get it over with." He laughed again, but this one was self-mocking. "I thought I had a good handle on this, and here I am, wasting my chance to be your knight in shining armor."

A sad smile touched her lips. "You're always my knight in shining armor. And this happened to both of us. Why should you have any better a handle on it than me?"

Excellent point, that. He knew he'd married her for a reason. And he did recall thinking to himself that there was something else he wanted to do, before carrying her everywhere. "So, tell me the worst bits all at once. I'll…do what I need to do. Then I'll be a rock." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "You won't be able to tell me from Shale. _That_ much like a rock."

Lorelai bit her lip, but a tiny giggle escaped anyway. Her eyes sparkled a little. "You want to take turns having break downs?"

"I just need one. After that, it's your turn for however long you need it to be."

"Well, I have been hogging my first turn. Shame on me."

"Ladies first, and all that." His breathing still wasn't quite right, and he shook out his hands, trying to force out the trembling. "Go ahead, honey. Please."

Her hand stilled over the mabari's fur. She closed her eyes. "I don't know where to start."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see him. He understood. How to decide which were the "worst" parts? The least he could do was help a little. "Whose blood was all over you?"

"Gilmore's, and Grady's," she answered, eyes still closed. "I slit Gilmore's throat. Grady's blood came from when I tried to save him after Gilmore stabbed him."

"Save him?"

"He saved me from Gilmore," she replied in a detached tone, like she was talking about someone other than herself. She kept talking without any more prompting from him. It wasn't linear; she just seemed to say things as they came to mind. One minute she was talking about her cell in the fortress, the next she was mentioning something about wandering around in the woods while she was drugged almost senseless.

And every single statement was awful.

The trembling that had just been in his hands was now everywhere. He had her back. He tried to keep repeating that to himself, but somehow it made it worse. It shouldn't, obviously. But now that she was here, and safe, he didn't have anything to occupy his thoughts. Mission accomplished, time to go home. And his mind was free to gibber madly in the corner of his skull like it had wanted to do from the moment this had all started. He just simply hadn't let it.

She stopped talking, and her eyes blinked open, as if coming out of a trance. "Oh," she said absently, like an afterthought, "and one of Grady's men tried to rape me on the road, but Grady stopped him."

His breath rushed out like someone had punched him in the gut. It took him a few seconds to remember how to inhale. "So," he said when he got his lungs working in something resembling order again, "you're…finished, then?"

"As far as blunt, horrific statements go, yes, I think so."

"Good." He made his way over to the bed on shaky legs, and crashed down to his knees beside it. With a gentle but firm shove, he evicted Jacob from her lap. Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist. Even with her belly, it was no trouble at all for him to circle all the way around. Burying his face in her lap, he sobbed until his tears ran dry.

* * *

"We're sure they're OK in there?" Sigrun asked Leliana for probably the millionth time.

"Yes," the bard answered patiently, giving no indication she found any annoyance with the repeated question.

"They haven't really come out in…days," the dwarf pointed out, another repetition. Except for the passage of time part. That obviously kept changing.

"They eat," Leliana answered with a shrug. "What else would you like from them?"

Sigrun shrugged uncomfortably. She didn't really have an answer for that. She just knew that the King's meltdown had been horrifying. As had the Commander's trance-like state all the way out of the jungle. It seemed like a lot of things had been horrifying, even after everything had been put right. That didn't seem…fair somehow. The ex-legionnaire wanted her Commander back.

"I think you should start accepting the fact that Lorelai is going to give up her post as Warden Commander," the Orlesian said into the silence.

Sigrun gave her a dark look, masking her irritation at being read so easily. "I didn't think it was something she could just give away like a hat."

Leliana laughed brightly. "She's also not supposed to own lands, or be royalty."

The dwarf grunted. "Point taken. But who would take her place?" When Leliana stared at her pointedly, Sigrun gaped for a minute, then waved her arms in denial. "Oh, no. Are you kidding me?"

The bard laughed again. "No? You have no such ambitions? You've done very well for yourself these past months. I was there, remember."

Sigrun made a shoving motion towards the other woman. "Enough! I don't want your sneaky speculation in my head."

"As you wish," Leliana relented, her tone amused. Her eyes shifted, going over Sigrun's head. "What shall be done with our dashing son of a traitor?"

Sigrun turned to see Liam standing with Aednat. The blonde elf was talking to him quietly, but there didn't look to be much flirting happening. In fact, their conversation seemed serious. Liam kept shaking his head, and at one point Aednat had to snatch his arm to keep him from walking away. "What about him?"

"He should be punished, no?"

"Um, _no_," Sigrun disagreed in shock. "Without him, we'd have never found the Commander at all!"

"So I've heard." The bard sounded anything but convinced. "And yet, he is all that's left of this coup. Perhaps he should be made an example of."

"I'm pretty sure we made a good example when the elephants crushed their fortress with them inside," Sigrun pointed out. "Not to mention the fact that no one knows about this, except us. We didn't exactly make it public knowledge that the Commander had been kidnapped."

"Wrong," Leliana retorted sharply. "To our knowledge, we are the only ones who know. That may not be true."

Sigrun blinked for a few moments. "He deserves to be spared," she finally said.

"Well, it will not be my word that removes his head. I can sadly only give my advice." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps Alistair can be persuaded."

"_When_ are you leaving, again?" Sigrun said disgustedly.

"Oh, I don't know about all that," the redhead said, blinking innocent eyes. "Weren't you the one who so accurately pointed out that all of us had simply left Alistair and Lorelai here? I find your accusations hit very close to home. Perhaps it is best if I don't leave it all."

She swallowed, and then sighed. She _had_ said that to Zevran in a rush of anger. Had she meant it? Yes. Of course she had. She always told the truth when she was positively enraged. Now, after that comment, she thought it would be safer for everyone, Liam in particular, if the bard and assassin went on their merry way as fast as possible.

The dwarf shut her eyes tightly, not caring what the Orlesian chose to read from that. Of course, if Leliana and Zevran had been here in the first place, maybe their cunning and ruthlessness could've saved everyone from this nightmare. She shouldn't be trying to shoo them out the door; she should be begging them to stay. To protect the Commander.

And if the price for the Commander's safety was Liam's life? And if that was just the beginning of the cost?

Her head gave an involuntary shake of disgust. Who was she to say what cost was too high? She could admit to herself that she would have done anything to spare the Commander this experience. Sigrun had no qualms killing; she'd never lost a day of sleep over the blood on her hands. But the blood on her hands had always earned its place there. She had never had to make a tough decision when it came to her blades. There had never been a moment where she'd wondered if the dead at her feet belonged there.

"This is above my skill set," she finally said, opening her eyes to glare at the bard. "You and your elf friend know how to do this." Her eyes narrowed, making her glare fiercer. "But if you think that you're going to bully the Commander, or the King, into doing anything they don't want to, think again."

"I won't have to bully," Leliana replied, her eyes sparkling. "Lorelai is one of the most bloodthirsty women I know. Her mind may be clouded about Grady's son for now. But she'll realize his threat soon enough."

"Maybe," Sigrun nodded, as if in complete agreement. Then she smiled. "Or maybe you'll be seeing a lot more of Grady's son."

* * *

Nathaniel stood near the prow, watching the moonlight dance across the spray of the water as the ship cut through the waves. He'd left Sigrun snoring away, no idea that he'd come out for a bit of air. That woman would sleep through the darkspawn horde marching through town.

Almost beyond the moonlight's reach across the water, he could see the vaguest hint of land. Ferelden. Home. Despite the King's…fit, they hadn't needed to stop in Gwaren. Just as well, as Nathaniel didn't want to stop. Not until they were all packed safely into the palace in Denerim. So, they rode the coastline. In the daylight, they'd be able to see the Brecilian Forest streaming by. He longed to see normal trees again, instead of those monstrosities that had made up their jungle prison.

And he longed to have a roof over his head. He'd spent more months than he cared to count with the sky or tree branches as the only thing looming over him. One night in an inn, and a while on a ship didn't qualify as a "roof" as far as he was concerned. The palace in Denerim would suffice for now, but the strong walls of Vigil's Keep were calling his name.

The archer's ears twitched at a strange noise. It came from behind him, and to the left. Curiosity beckoning, he headed that direction. The noise came again, and he quickened his pace a bit. He stopped short when he found the source, momentarily at a loss.

The Commander was hanging her head over the railing, inelegantly losing her dinner into the sea. She lifted her head, and gulped in a couple deep breaths of ocean air. Something must have betrayed his presence, because she turned suddenly, her fear immediately evident as she plastered her back against the railing.

"It's just me, Commander," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "Sorry to startle you."

"Nathaniel," she breathed, and her hands loosened their grip on the railing abruptly. "Sweet Andraste, you scared me half to death."

"Again, sorry." He took a few steps closer. "Should you be out here by yourself?"

"Alistair's sleeping," she said, as if that was an adequate answer. "I didn't think to wake him just for this."

He came closer still, until he was standing next to her at the railing. "I'd think you wouldn't have been able to leave your room without him noticing."

Even in the moonlight, she couldn't hide the flash of guilt that slid across her features. "I may have asked Leliana to put something in his dinner, so he'd get a good night's sleep."

Nathaniel sighed, and raised his eyes to the star-filled sky. "From what I've gathered from the ship's gossip - and by 'ship' I mean your dear, well-meaning friends and Wardens - I wouldn't think you'd want him drugged to sleep."

"I don't," she said, snorting a laugh. "It actually terrifies me. That if I needed him, he wouldn't be _right there_." She waved away his response before he could make a sound. "I know, it's irrational. It's not like I'm not surrounded by perfectly capable people."

Nathaniel swallowed. Before all this, if someone had told him the Commander would admit such vulnerability to him, he'd have laughed until his ribs ached. Maker, if someone had told him that such vulnerability even _existed_ in her, he'd have laughed. "You're allowed to be irrational for as long as you'd like," he said gently.

"Thanks," she said with a small smile.

He cleared his throat, bracing himself for his next, much more awkward, question. "I don't know too much about…pregnancy, but I was under the impression that this whole…unpleasantness would be long gone by now."

"Oh, I stopped throwing up all the time months ago," she agreed. "This is…not because of the baby."

Nathaniel looked harder, and noticed her entire body was trembling. "I see. Is there anything I can do? Anyone you'd like me to wake up? You know no one would mind."

"I want-" The Commander bit her lip, and then hung her head. "No, it's fine. I asked my Orlesian bard to drug my husband to sleep _like an idiot_, I'll deal with the consequences."

"Well, I know I'm a poor substitute, but I'm not doing anything," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing.

She sighed, then looked up at him. "Actually, I've been meaning to discuss something with you."

He raised his eyebrows, even while his heart secretly sped up. Oh Maker, she would toss him to the waves if she realized he was still waiting for his punishment, cringing in his mind like a mabari who'd stolen the evening's roast. "Oh? What about?"

She told him. And every single sentence made his heart pound even faster. When she finished talking, he could only gape at her. "That's your plan?" he croaked.

"Do you hate it?" she asked, twisting her hands uncomfortably. "If you do, just say the word."

"No. No, I don't…hate it," he said, waving his hands in disagreement. Then he dropped them abruptly, and they hit his thighs with a _slap_. "Just… Are you sure? I mean, I thought…"

The Commander nodded, pressing her lips together. "Yes, I'm sure. It's appropriate, and I feel like it will appease everyone. And, if you change your mind, or if you don't think it's right, then you can just-"

"Keep right on going?" he interrupted with a snort. "You sure this isn't just a trap? Let me think it's only for a little while, and then 'a little while' never ends?"

She shrugged, and spread her hands innocently as she grinned. "It will be what it will be. I know you'll do the right thing, whatever you think that is." She sobered then, and sighed. "It's honestly not a trap. You'd be doing me a favor, and that favor will end when you say it does."

Nathaniel snorted again, but he believed her. It wasn't like she had to be asking; she could bloody well just _say_ what was going to happen, and give him no choice, at all. Perks of the mantles of Warden Commander _and_ the Crown. But she hadn't, because she cared.

"No one knows," she added. "No one but you. I'll tell Alistair…later. I want to wait until Denerim to tell everyone."

He nodded. "I'll keep it to myself."

"Thank you."

He blinked, and tried to shove everything she'd just told him to the back of his mind. At least for now. "So, let's find a place to sit, and you can tell me whatever's upsetting you. Or you can tell me nothing, but I'll still sit with you."

"Thank you," she repeated, this time in a whisper.

Gallantly extending his arm, he escorted her away from the railing to somewhere more comfortable. Even if he didn't want to help her with whatever she was going through (which he did), it wasn't like he was going back to sleep any time soon. Not with their conversation buzzing around in his head.


	33. A Stranger's Life

**As always, thanks to JackAreWild for proofreading and giving feedback :)**

* * *

Lorelai stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing the ornate dress's skirts down. The small army of servants had left, and the silence was comforting. It gave her a chance to breathe.

She felt like she was looking at a stranger. All those jewels, the elaborate hair style. The solid stone walls of the palace in the background of the image, and the plush couch she sat on contributed to the oddness of the picture.

Why was it so hard to remember that this had been her life? She'd grown up a noble, a teryn's daughter. Being Queen hadn't been all that different, as far as ceremony and dress. Just more elaborate. And she'd done that for five years, give or take the time spent at Vigil's Keep.

So the person looking back at her shouldn't seem so foreign. And yet she did.

A gentle knock hit the door. Jacob rose to his feet, his stub of a tail wagging expectantly. "Come in," Lorelai called.

Adelle pushed the door open, curtsying deeply in the doorway. "Your Majesty."

Lorelai smiled, and motioned her the rest of the way inside. "It's good to see you."

"And you, Your Majesty," the older woman answered, rising from her curtsy. She folded her hands, and smiled a little. "I thought I should warn you before he cornered you: Arl Eamon is on the prowl. He's practically dancing for joy over your condition. He's so happy he isn't even lecturing the King about having disappeared."

The Warden repressed a sigh. Eamon was the last person she wanted to see, but she supposed she couldn't avoid him forever. They'd managed for almost an entire day. That was something. The ship arriving in the dead of night helped a bit, too. Making their way to the palace without all the usual pomp and circumstance had been a treat.

Now all the rooms on the floor were filled with her allies. Apparently, one of the maids had screamed, then fainted upon seeing Shale stomping around one of the guest beds. Lorelai had laughed herself silly when Anders had told her.

"And you, Adelle?" Lorelai asked. "Is it time for my lecture?"

"My Queen, I would never presume to-" She stopped, and pressed her lips together. "Would it do any good?"

With a smile, she shook her head. "You could, if you wanted. If it would make you feel better. But seeing as I didn't run off exactly, I think your scathing words would be wasted."

The other woman bowed her head. "I'm very happy you're home safe," she said quietly.

"I'm very happy to be home…safe," she responded, tripping over the last word a little. Feeling "safe" seemed a long way away. Maybe she'd never feel completely safe again.

"Forgive my boldness, my Queen," Adelle stared at her, and Lorelai held firm under her penetrating eyes, "but will I ever know the truth of all of this?"

Lorelai gave her sour smile. "I think you already know what happened, Adelle. Maybe not all the details. I wish _I_ didn't know the details, so count your blessings. But you know."

She closed her eyes. "I was hoping you'd tell me I was wrong."

"Does Eamon know?"

"No," Adelle answered. "He is not…observant enough to have put all the pieces together." Her eyes snapped open, and her cheeks stained red. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have spoken about the Arl like that."

"No, I won't forgive you. I'd like you to keep talking like that. Just to me, if you please."

Adelle blinked for a few seconds, then nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching in what might have been a smile. "As you wish."

Another knock came, and Alistair stepped in to the room. Adelle curtsied to him, and he nodded in response. "Everyone's all gathered, love," he said. "Are you ready?"

She took a deep breath. "Sure." Gathering her strength, she pushed herself to her feet. Alistair took her hand halfway up, pulling her the rest of the way. "I think I may have to start letting you do all the heavy lifting, which includes me lately."

He smiled, and gave her hand a kiss. "It's nice to have a purpose." He held out his arm for her, as gallant an escort as any lady could dream of. "You look gorgeous," he whispered in her ear as she draped her arm over his.

"You're biased," she whispered back.

"True."

They headed down the corridor, and Lorelai could hear the clicking of Jacob's nails against the floor behind them. Behind that, Adelle's foot falls. Even in softly soled shoes, she managed to make her walk sound strict and vaguely disapproving.

When they arrived at the throne room, Arl Eamon approached in a rush. "Your Majesty, you're positively glowing!" he exulted. He bent and gave her hand a gentlemanly kiss. "Have you ever seen a more beautiful sight, Alistair?"

Surprisingly, she felt her husband's arm tense under hers. "Never in my life."

Either Eamon was choosing to ignore it, or he didn't notice the change in Alistair's body language. "Now, my lady, I understand you wanting to get away for a while, but I do wish you'd stayed here so we could've made a proper announcement to everyone. Sprung on us like this, with so little time," he scolded, wagging a finger playfully under her nose. "There's so much preparation to be done-"

"Lorelai is free to do as she wishes," Alistair snapped.

Eamon blinked in shock, straightening up. "Of course. I wasn't implying that-"

"And I don't appreciate you implying that anything she's done has inconvenienced your grand plans," he added, the volume of his voice decreasing as the anger did the opposite.

She tightened her grip on his arm, trying to rein him in without saying anything. The last thing she wanted to do was to stop him from standing up to Eamon, who had done nothing but try to bully him since they'd ascended the throne. Normally, Lorelai was the buffer with charm, deflecting the Arl of Redcliffe with ease.

But she wasn't sure she had the strength for it at the moment. She didn't feel like she'd have the strength for much for quite some time. Andraste, all she wanted to do was hide in her rooms. So, it was really good that Alistair was handling him.

She just had no idea why he was doing it right now. Nothing the Arl had said was all that bad. And yet, Alistair was acting like-

"And if you try to bother her with tons of insignificant, stupid details about insignificant, stupid parties or insignificant, stupid _anything_, you might find yourself returning to Redcliffe."

Lorelai heard Adelle gasp behind her. She knew she should probably be concerned, but she found she wasn't. Instead, all she felt was…safe. Laying her head on his shoulder, the archer gave her husband's arm a squeeze.

He turned, and planted a kiss on her head. Ignoring the Arl's astonished face, he said, "Come on, love," and led her gently away.

She settled her back against her throne, the feel of the carvings against her spine comforting. It made her life seem more real, and less like a fever dream that would be snatched away at any moment. Looking out at the expectant faces of all her friends and Wardens made it little better, too.

The only one who wasn't looking expectant was Nathaniel. He looked a little bit ill, in fact. She tried to give him a reassuring smile. He responded with a small smile of his own, and a nod.

"As I'm sure you all guessed, I'm not going to be able to juggle being a mother, and a Queen, and a Warden Commander," she began. "I was barely juggling the last two." A chorus of denials greeted this statement, which she waved down dismissively. "So, it's time to appoint someone new. However, I would like to perform one last act as Warden Commander." Turning her gaze, she stopped when she found Liam. "Step forward."

He did obediently. He got down on one knee before the throne, his head bowed. "Yes, my Queen?"

"I invoke the right of Conscription, Liam. You will accompany the Wardens to Vigil's Keep when they leave, and join their ranks."

His head snapped up as the rest of them burst into a rush of babbling. Aednat's face had gone paper white, and she stared at Lorelai with a mixture of betrayal and relief.

"Your Majesty," Liam began, shaking his head. "You are too kind, I don't deserve-"

"I am not kind," she interrupted sharply, silencing the chatter. He knew nothing of the potential death sentence she had laid on his head, or of the trip to the Deep Roads in his future if he survived the Joining. He didn't know that he would be robbed of having children.

He straightened his shoulders. "You show more mercy than I-"

"Me too," Aednat said, stepping forward. Bending her knee beside Grady's son, she lifted her eyes to Lorelai. "I volunteer to be a Grey Warden."

"_What?_" shouted Aideen as another storm of talking erupted, this one louder than the last.

"Aednat," Alistair said, his voice just loud enough to be heard by those closest to the throne, "are you sure?"

The elf nodded, then turned to the man next to her, who was staring at her in dumbfounded shock. "I told you I wasn't letting you go."

"But- But you don't even know me!" he blurted out. "You don't know anything about me!"

"I know what you did for the Commander," she responded. "That tells me all I need to know about you."

"What in the Maker's name are you_ thinking_?" hissed Aideen, slicing through the jumble of voices.

"Do the Grey Wardens of Ferelden live somewhere _other_ than where the Silver Order does?" Aednat shot back, turning around. "It's not like I'm not going anywhere."

"And when the Wardens send you Maker only knows where, and I'm not invited?" the other elf snapped. "What then?"

"Then you will just have to shut your mouth and find your own things to kill. I'm done sharing." A small smile softened her harsh words. "It's all right, Aideen. Besides," she turned to face Lorelai and Alistair again, "it will take more than what Liam's got to replace a Warden like the Commander. I'm just helping." The blonde gave Lorelai a bold wink, and knocked her armored shoulder into Liam's…which nearly bowled the still-stunned man over.

Lorelai closed her eyes, trying to halt the tears. Andraste only knew why she bothered. She felt Alistair take her hand and squeeze it. She squeezed back, and opened her eyes. "There is no turning back, once you've chosen this, Aednat. Is this what you truly want?"

"Yes," the elf answered without hesitation.

The archer took a deep breath. They could both die, choking on tainted blood. Or one of them could die, leaving the other. Somehow, that would be worse. And Aideen would never forgive her if Aednat failed the Joining.

She coughed out a bitter little laugh. It's not like she'd be seeing much of Aideen anymore. Not with her permanent residence being firmly in Denerim from now on. A pang of sadness tightened her chest. This was the only choice, but there was so much of Vigil's Keep that she would miss.

"Very well," she finally said. "You both will return to Vigil's Keep, and join the ranks of the Wardens." The pair rose, with Aednat gripping Liam's hand fiercely, and retreated to their places.

Shaking off the surprise, Lorelai squared her shoulders. One more thing, and then this would no longer be her responsibility. One less burden to bear. "I name Nathaniel Howe as Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, and Arl of Amaranthine."

Instead of noise, which had greeted her previous statement, shocked silence followed her voice. To his credit, Nathaniel stepped forward without a moment's hesitation. He knelt before the throne. "It shall be as my Queen, and my Commander, wishes."

Lorelai gave him a grateful nod. She knew he didn't want this, despite how well-suited he was for it. They'd talked about it before. He didn't want the responsibility, and he didn't want anyone to think it was a power play to reclaim his family's home. The shame of his father still followed him, despite his ignorance of it. There were still whispers, and the last thing he wanted was more attention being drawn to him.

Which was why it _had_ to be him. Lorelai's plan was not simply to strand Nathaniel in a position he didn't want, trapped by honor. "Rise, Warden Commander."

"Maker, Your Majesty," the son of Rendon Howe said, giving her a wink as he got to his feet, "nothing like utter quiet to make a man feel welcome."

As if snapping out of a sleeping spell, the room filled with chatter again, everyone coming forward to congratulate him. Anders gave him a mocking salute, and the archer shoved his new subordinate playfully. Oghren clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble a few paces. But Sigrun was there to catch him, planting a thorough kiss on his lips.

No, she had not intended to build Nathaniel a cage and lure him in with loyalty and duty, then lock the door behind him. But she needed someone to watch Liam. Another son trying to escape his father's crimes. Nathaniel would understand his struggle best, and be able to see what kind of man would rise from the dust.

Lorelai did not doubt Liam's heart. He risked much to help her; he was the reason she lived. But someone had to see if Grady's shadow would crush him, or if he would shoulder its weight. Like Nathaniel had.

And then, if Nathaniel found him worthy… Her eyes strayed to Liam, hanging back with Aednat. Waiting for the rest of the Wardens and the others to finish their congratulations before coming forward to greet their new Commander.

She had not built Nathaniel a cage. He was merely holding the door open for someone else. Someone who, hopefully, wouldn't think of it as a cage, at all.

Just as she had.


	34. Epilogue

__**I know anyone who's got this story on alert is probably like, "Oh, wait, it wasn't over? That's weird..." Yeah, I know. I had a really hard time writing this ending. I felt like a had one or two pieces of information I wanted to convey, and I was having just the worst time trying to get it out. So, apologies.**

**This will be my last fic for probably a really long time. I'm going to try to focus on my original story that I have in the works *fingers crossed*. So thanks for all your love/support. You guys have really made me believe that my writing is something that people will enjoy :). That is confidence that can't be bought. You're all the greatest!**

* * *

_~*~four months later~*~_

Zevran crouched below the window ledge, the wind trying to gently pull him off the way the current of a stream gently tries to push you along. It was no bother to him; he wouldn't have chosen this way to get in if he were uncomfortable hanging about in high places and negotiating the breezes that came with that.

He heard murmured voices coming from above his head, drifting out of the window. They chatted for a few moments, their words indistinguishable. That was no bother either; he was not here for eavesdropping.

The voices ceased, and he felt more than heard the door slide shut, an infinitesimal change in the pressure of the air passing over him. The glow of what was most likely a candle shifted about. Now he had a delicious choice to make. Wait until the candle had gone out, and the bearer of the light had settled themselves for sleep, or make himself known now?

As the light meandered around the room a little more, he nodded to himself. Now would be better. After all, he had promised Aideen to make it back to Denerim before the sun rose. And if there was one thing he enjoyed more than what he was doing at this very moment, it was making his lover happy. The idea of her in their bed back at Vigil's Keep was…distracting. Best to curtail that line of thought. There was work to be done.

With a push from his legs and arms, he landed on the window ledge in an elegant leap. As luck would have it, a particularly determined push of wind drafted in, snuffing out the candle's flame. His entrance couldn't have been more dramatic.

The strangled gasp and the clatter as the unlit candle dropped to the floor were like long-forgotten music.

"Do not scream," he advised, as the slender figure drew in a harsh breath. "It would be a shame for me to have to slaughter your guards." His statement had the desired effect, for the moment. He dropped gracefully into the room, and held his hands up. "I mean you no harm, Lady Anora."

She managed a snort, but her voice shook when she answered. "Somehow I don't believe you."

"If I were here to kill you, do you not think I would've waited until your lovely blonde head lay defenselessly against your pillows, and your undoubtedly sweet dreams left you vulnerable?" He chuckled quietly. "I am an assassin, dear lady. We do not play fair."

Her disconcerted swallow was audible. In the faint moonlight, he saw her shadowed form grope for the chair near the dressing table. Its legs scraped against the floor as she dragged it forward, and fell more than sat into its empty arms. "What do you want?"

"I come seeking answers. I ask that you provide them for me in a truthful manner. If I think you are being dishonest with me, it will prove most unhealthy for you."

She let out a bitter laugh. "I thought you meant me no harm."

"Oh, I don't," he assured her, as if horrified that she thought such a thing. "Whether harm comes to you is entirely in your hands. I am merely the sword; a tool at the mercy of who wields it. You are wielding me, my lady."

Straightening in the chair, she folded hands that, even in the pale light, Zevran could see shaking. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you know of a man named Grady Tremore?"

There was a silence for a moment. "Yes. Yes, of course. He was captain of the household guard when I grew up. I don't know what became of him."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped. "Why should I lie about that?"

"Oh, I can think of lots of reasons."

Her hands came up to grip the arms of the chair, but more as if she were holding herself back, not as if she needed comfort. "What does Captain Tremore have to do with anything? I haven't seen him since I left home to marry Cailan! I demand-"

"You will demand nothing from me," Zevran said, filling his voice with malice. Oh, if she were not a woman… A well-placed blow would not go amiss in dealing with her attitude. But alas, he would not. Unless she forced his hand.

Not that he hadn't done whatever the Crows had instructed him to do once upon a time. To men and women both. But he was no longer a Crow. Now, he made his own choices.

"Captain Tremore is dead, for treason," he added bluntly. "He attempted to overthrow the Crown. He claimed he did this to give you back the throne." Zevran closed the distance between himself and the seated former Queen slowly, allowing the menace to flood the decreasing space between them. "Do you know anything about that?"

He could pick out her features in the darkness as he drew closer. So it was with pleasure that he watched her mind race, and watched her eyes fill with dread at the precariousness of her position. "Are…are the King and Queen all right?"

Zevran grabbed her arms, pressing them against the wooden arms of the chair. He snarled, leaning down into her face. "You care? How sweet."

"Of course I care," she whispered breathlessly, flinching back from his proximity. "I bear them no ill will-"

"Spare me your gilded lies," Zevran hissed. "She removed you from the throne, after she promised to back you in the Landsmeet. She let her lover kill your father in front of your eyes, and _then_ she made that man King. Do not tell me that you bear them no ill will."

She pressed her lips together tightly, eyes filling with tears even as she stared back at him steadily. "Captain Tremore deserved his death, as all traitors do."

"What a pretty bird, listen to it sing all the right notes," he said, pressing down on her arms until she let out a small whimper. He didn't let her go, just maintained the pressure steadily. "Grady claimed he did this without your knowledge, that you are completely blameless in his plot. Seeing how his motives were…questionable, I am here to ask you." The elf bent his head, gently touching his lips to her ear. "Did you know of Grady's plans?"

"No. No, not at all," she blurted out. "I told you, I haven't seen him since I was married. Please, let me go. You're hurting me." He did as she begged. She rubbed at her arms, staring up at him reproachfully. Her eyes glinted, and she spat, "What does it matter what I say? I have no proof."

"It matters," he responded. "It matters because I wish to see your face while you speak the words."

"It doesn't matter!" she countered. "You are here because you didn't believe Captain Tremore, which means you suspect me. But what use are my words? It's not as if I would admit to you if I _were_ involved. When all that would await me would be a traitor's death."

"A traitor's death would be a mercy compared to what I shall do to you if you are lying," Zevran said quietly, his blood simmering. Maker, it would be so easy just to kill her. Lorelai, and Alistair, would be much safer with her dead. It was bad enough that the Cousland Queen had made Grady's son a Grey Warden. Bad enough he had to watch the man train under his very nose at Vigil's Keep.

Zevran kept his eye on him, regardless of what Lorelai said. He knew Leliana did the same. Grey Warden or not, Grady's son would never breathe an unmarked breath.

But this errand he was on was without Lorelai's knowledge. This was a task set upon him by her husband. He had been given the freedom to do whatever he deemed necessary. And necessary was so wonderfully open to interpretation.

"Believe me, my lady. If I leave here assured of your honesty, and innocence, in this matter and I find out later that you are lying," he said slowly, "there will be no end to the agony I will rain down on you."

There was silence for a few moments. "What did you mean? About Captain Tremore's…motives being questionable?"

"What?" Zevran blurted out, her question taking him off guard.

"You said his motives were questionable, that's why you're here. Asking me these questions to my face," she explained sharply. "What did you mean?"

"Ah." He waved his arms dismissively, even as he sneered. "The man was in love with you; it was his driving reasoning to give you back the throne. At least that was the Queen's deduction. When she accused him of it, he became very upset but did not deny it. Obviously, if you were involved, he would lie to spare his love-"

"I beg your pardon?" she interrupted. "He what? His _what_?"

Forgiving her impertinence, Zevran stared at her for a moment. The incredulousness on her face. The shock and almost…betrayal, presumably from a father figure behaving so unexpectedly and unforgivably like a man. Those were the first emotions from her this evening that he actually believed.

"He loved you," he said. "Though I was not there to witness the interaction, I have faith in the Queen's judgment."

She blinked up at him, her expression now dazed. "I speak the truth. I had no knowledge of Captain Tremore's plot. All I have to offer is my word. Do with it what you will."

And what to do. It would be the easiest of lies to tell Alistair he had found her guilty, and that he thought her death warranted. They had already discussed how unnecessary and damaging a public execution would be. After all, no one knew of the last almost-year of struggle. To have Anora denounced for all the land to see would seem strange.

An "accident" would be so much easier.

Zevran didn't know whether to celebrate or lament the King's new bloodthirstiness. Perhaps both. It was to be encouraged, for now. Everyone would be safer without Alistair's soft heart. Although Lorelai seemed to have grown one to subconsciously make up for her husband's lack. The elf nearly snorted disgust, and repressed a grimace at the thought of Grady's son.

A problem for another time. Right now, he had this she-demon to deal with.

"You have charmed me, my lady," Zevran said to the seated woman, bowing low. "For now," he added, raising his head to give her a meaningful glare. "But do not think I will forget about you." He turned, headed back to his window ledge.

"And don't think I will forget about you, Signore Arainai."

He paused, then cast a look at her over his shoulder, and her blonde hair seemed to catch what little light there was to be had. "Perhaps you should keep this visit just between us. I would hate to have to pay you another visit such as this one." He didn't wait for her reply, and tossed himself casually out of the window. With ease, he caught the ledge and began his descent.

Leaving the grounds of the manor house proved to be just as easy as entering them had been. Her guards were not the most skilled; they wouldn't have been allowed to guard the pantry in Denerim. Lorelai had wanted Anora kept safe from bandits and thieves, not guarded by actual career soldiers. A stroke of ruthlessness that Zevran was most gracious for tonight.

Slinking through the shadows, he arrived at the copse where he'd hidden his horse. The same devil-eyed beast that had carried him to Lothering, and then to Gwaren when he'd been searching for Lorelai. It snorted as he approached it, tossing its mane disdainfully.

"Yes, yes, I took quite too long and you have been standing here bored witless," Zevran agreed, untying the reins from a low-hanging tree branch. "But my business is done. If you'd be so kind…" He trailed off, gesturing toward the saddle.

The horse glared at him, then looked away with a sniff.

Zevran took this as the permission it was and swung himself into the saddle. The horse turned with hardly any help from the elf on its back and set off for Denerim at a smooth, distance-eating gallop.

Anora's quiet manor house was not all that far from the capital. If she had become a threat, Lorelai hadn't wanted to have to travel a great distance to put her down. Another fail-safe put into place to counter her husband's cumbersome mercy.

Done with his task, and with the horse completely capable of finding its way home without any guidance from Zevran, the Antivan let his mind wander to a sneaking suspicion that had been nagging him of late. He'd been trying to ignore it, simply hoping it couldn't possibly be true, but evidence was mounting.

He'd begun to get the distinct impression that Howe was grooming Grady's son to be Warden Commander.

Which would be absurd.

At first, he'd simply overhead small comments, or watched Howe specifically ask Grady's son for his opinion. Those things hadn't meant much. Zevran had just filed them away in his mind under the title of "information". But it had begun to pile up, and now there were even more signs. Howe meeting in private with Grady's son. Howe allowing Grady's son to lead drills, or plan excursions to purge pockets of darkspawn.

And then Grady's son had returned from one of those excursions with a recruit, which Howe had accepted. The girl would be a full-fledged Grey Warden by tomorrow morning.

The idea of Grady's son in charge of the Grey Wardens was intolerable. And peculiar, considering Howe was in no danger of needing to be tucked into a rocking chair with a blanket any time soon. It made no sense to be training a successor already. Preparedness for the worst aside, it was a bit extreme.

The strangeness and the abhorrence of the notion were on the verge of driving Zevran mad.

The sound beneath the horse's hooves changed, and snapped the elf out of his angry thoughts. A proper road sounded against the beast's feet, and Denerim greeted Zevran's eyes as he raised his head. A glance to the east saw that the sun wasn't even a hint in the sky, not even the telltale lightening of darkest black to deep blue to indicate it was even thinking about rising. Perfect. He had honored his promise to his lady warrior and then some.

Avoiding the main gate completely, he dismounted and snuck in to the city through a much smaller, barely known entrance. It wouldn't do to let the city guard know the infamous Antivan assassin was returning to the palace at this hour.

Using the back alleys and other unsavory routes, the elf managed the palace in no time and without detection. He slid the horse into the stable himself, removed the animal's gear and saw that its needs were taken care of. He found the creature much more agreeable since he'd started doing that. Even though his occasions to ride it were rare, it had a long memory. And held a grudge like no living being Zevran had ever seen.

Once the horse was taken care of, it was child's play to duck through the palace without any of the guards being the wiser. Normally, it would have bothered him, that someone could so easily infiltrate his friends' home. But since it was him, he wasn't all that concerned. After all, there were few that could match him.

Arriving at his destination, he knocked on the door quietly. The door swung inward after a few seconds.

"You're back soon," Alistair commented. He gestured for the elf to step inside.

Zevran obeyed and the King shut the door behind him. "I did not want to keep you from your beauty sleep. Though I am not certain that all the sleep in the world would manage to allow you to approach me in that regard."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm hideous. You can't imagine why Lorelai married me, and so on."

"It is childish to deprive a friend of their good-natured insults," Zevran said, sticking out his lower lip. "You are a cruel man."

"Apparently," Alistair agreed, sitting at the desk in the far corner of the room. Papers liberally covered its surface. There seemed to be some attempt at organization, but it looked to have failed for the most part. "So, does she live?" he asked coolly, his eyes fixed on the elf intensely.

"She does," answered Zevran. "I found myself convinced. She definitely had no idea about Grady's feelings for her."

"That doesn't mean she had nothing to do with the plot," Alistair countered, a frown forming between his eyebrows.

"No," Zevran allowed. "It does not. But we can slip some people into her household. I know you had originally disliked the idea, but-"

"Do it," Alistair interrupted. "A woman, her maid or something. Do you know anyone suitable for that?"

Zevran blinked, but recovered swiftly. "Of course. I shall write some letters, make the inquiries. If all of my contacts fail, I could train someone. It would take a little longer but," he shrugged elegantly, "I don't think the threat from Anora is immediate, if at all."

Alistair nodded. "Do what you think is best."

Zevran nodded. "As you wish." He hesitated for an instant. "There is a matter I wished to ask you about."

"There's something I wanted to ask you, too."

The elf blinked in surprise again. "By all means, the King should go first," he said with a little bow.

Snorting, Alistair nonetheless started speaking. "I was wondering if you would consider moving here, to the palace. To handle all of the…assassin-y stuff. You'd have your own quarters, your own people, whatever you needed. I trust you."

"Am I not already handling the…'assassin-y stuff' to your satisfaction?" the elf asked, trying not to look as completely off guard as he felt. He wanted to stay at Vigil's Keep to keep an eye on Grady's son. He also was not sure Aideen would leave Aednat, or the Silver Order. Or, for that matter, if she was invited. Alistair had not mentioned her.

"You are," the other man assured him. "I would just feel better if you were here."

"Is Grady's son to be Howe's successor?" Zevran countered. It made sense. To remove him from Vigil's Keep, since he would obviously oppose the appointment.

It was the Grey Warden's turn to blink for a few seconds, but other than that, his face revealed nothing. Too good. The man had learned too much from his scheming wife. "You'd have to talk to Nathaniel about that," he answered.

"But I am asking you."

"If you really don't want to ask Nathaniel, you can ask Lorelai, if you'd like," Alistair responded, his voice filled with a bit more steel. "Though I'm not sure it's any of your business what the Grey Wardens do."

Perhaps Alistair truly knew nothing. But the thought didn't stem Zevran's anger. He sneered, "You task me with protecting you and your Queen from subterfuge, and then tell me the promotion of a traitor is none of my business?"

"Lorelai would be _dead_ without his help!" Alistair hissed, rising to his feet. "I think we can get over the whole 'traitor' thing, can't we? He's a Warden now; it's time to put it all behind us."

"Oh yes, his elevation to a noble order _clearly_ settled the matter of his loyalties!" the elf spat.

Alistair's fist slammed into the desk with such force the stone floor let out a grating protest. "Being made a Warden was his punishment!"

The former Crow froze, the rage washing away under a torrent of confusion. "What?"

Looking disgusted with himself, the taller man sank back down into his chair. "I shouldn't have said that."

"What did you mean?"

"I can't," Alistair said, rubbing his face. "The secrets of the Wardens are-" He raised his eyes. "I don't regret being a Warden, not at all. But there is a price to pay, and it is steep."

Zevran opened his mouth, then closed it again. "And you? You have paid this price?"

"I pay it every day," Alistair replied with a short laugh. "And I'll continue to pay it every day until I die."

"And Lorelai-"

"She pays it too," he answered quietly. "Every day."

The elf felt every muscle in his body tighten, ratcheting down against his bones until he imagined he could hear them grinding under the strain. Forget his qualms about Grady's son. That was a distant and unimportant thought. But this revelation, this was another matter entirely. "You cannot expect me to be satisfied with that."

"Here, I can tell you one thing, Maker help me." Alistair leaned forward, as if sharing a juicy bit of gossip, his eyes gone a bit wild. "One of us was supposed to die on the top of Fort Drakon, killing the Archdemon. Whoever slays the beast goes with it. It has to be a Grey Warden."

If possible, Zevran's whole body tensed even more. His mind replayed watching Lorelai slit the Archdemon's throat, the gleaming sword she'd snatched off the ground awash in blood. Remembered her driving it into its skull. "Then why is she still here?"

"Morrigan," Alistair growled. "And that had its price, too." He pushed against the table, sliding the chair back and getting to his feet again. "That's it. I won't tell you anymore."

"I didn't know," Zevran said lamely into the quiet.

"You're not supposed to," Alistair said, waving his hand dismissively.

There was barely a warning creak before the door swung inward. Zevran spun around as his hands slid to his daggers, and immediately softened at the sight before him.

"Zevran?" Lorelai blurted out in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"My beautiful Queen," he said with a deep bow.

"Oh, get up, you fool," she scolded, her slippered feet whispering across the floor.

"If you won't allow me to pay you the obsequiousness you deserve," he said, straightening up, "at least allow me to take that burden off your hands." He held out his arms and beckoned. "Come, come. I know I am his favorite."

Lorelai smiled, half with exasperation and half with fondness, before obediently passing over the precious cargo in her arms.

Zevran looked down into clear, blinking eyes. "Ah, my noble Prince. How excellent to see you again." A tiny hand untangled itself from its blankets and reached up. The elf ducked his face closer obligingly. The chubby fingers probed insistently at his tattoo. "You like it? We shall get one for you very soon, somewhere your mother will not see it."

Lorelai snorted as she crossed the room to be at her husband's side. "Try it, Antivan."

He raised his head, looking at her in shock. "My Queen, of course not. I would never endeavor to keep anything from you." He turned back to the bundle in his arms and gave an exaggerated wink.

The daughter of Highever laughed, a bright noise Zevran had been cherishing these four months of peace and quiet and…uneventfulness. "So, did you ask him yet?" she asked Alistair.

"I did," her husband replied. "He hasn't answered yet."

Lorelai looked at the elf in surprise. "Really? Did you tell him the part about his own people, his own rooms?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell him the part about whatever he wants?"

"That, too."

"Did you tell him the part about Aideen being head of Bryce's bodyguards?"

Alistair snapped his fingers. "Forgot that part."

"Well, that's obviously why he's still thinking about it." She narrowed her eyes slightly as she stared at the elf. "Isn't it?"

Zevran swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as if he had been transported several years into the past. A past where her word was law; unquestionable and beyond reproach. At least, in his opinion. Though they were far from those days of struggle and fear, and those nights huddled around the camp's fire, he still found his arguments wilting under Lorelai's pointed gaze. "Forgive me, but do you not already have a quite capable bodyguard in the form of a considerable-sized golem?"

"Of course, Shale will still protect him." Lorelai tilted her head to the side. "Think of Shale as his shield. I want Aideen to be his sword."

Zevran looked down at the child in his arms again. A quiet baby, not prone to fits of crying or screaming. He seemed so serious, as if already thinking heavy thoughts. "It will be my honor to accept the position, Prince Bryce Duncan Theirin. As I am sure it will be my lady's honor to accept the position offered to her."

"Are you sure?" chirruped Lorelai, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. "I know her and Aednat are still as thick as thieves."

"I am quite certain she will not object. It is, after all, a substantial promotion."

"Yes," Lorelai agreed. "So it's settled then." She rose up on her toes, giving her husband a peck on the lips. "Don't stay up plotting too long." Walking briskly to the door, she looked over her shoulder at the last minute. "And don't let the assassin whisk the baby off on an adventure."

"Promise," Alistair nodded. The door shut behind her, and he backed up until he hit the wall, then leaned his full weight against it. He closed his eyes. "Now, wouldn't it have been nicer to just say yes when _I_ asked?"

"Motherhood has not exactly calmed her," Zevran said as an answer. "And I do not know that 'nicer' is the word I would choose. I would feel less emasculated…that is certain."

Alistair barked out a surprised laugh. "'Less emasculated'. I wonder what that feels like."

"Truly, I have no idea." Stepping forward, the assassin passed the thoughtful child back to his father. "I expect you to swear on Andraste's sword the next time you see Aideen that I was here before sun rise."

"You have my word," the King laughed, tucking his son against his chest expertly.

Zevran headed for the door. He was almost there before a prickling crept up the back of his neck and made him freeze. Turning slowly, he faced his old companion and his child.

"Um, Zevran?" Alistair prompted into the lengthy silence.

"It seems it took quite a long time to complete your husbandly task of getting your wife with child," the elf said quietly. "Not to mention your Kingly task."

Alistair's face darkened, and his fingers clenched against the tiny body cradled in his arms.

Zevran held up his arms in surrender quickly. "Peace, my friend. I was not trying to insult you."

"Then what exactly was that statement for?"

"I was just thinking about prices," Zevran answered, "and how they must be paid."

The anger drained out of Alistair's face, but he didn't loosen his hold on his son. "I notice you didn't ask Lorelai about Liam."

"I suddenly find myself not so concerned about him."


End file.
